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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




HELEN POTTER. 



HELEN POTTER'S 



IMPEBSONATIONS 



BY. 



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HELKN POTTER 




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NEW YORK 3 ) r 1 W 

1891 



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Copyright, 

1891, 

By Edgar S. Werner. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

lUuPtrationa vi 

Studies of Persons and of Pieces vii 

Author's Preface ix 

How to Pi-epare Impersonations xi 

Care of the Voice, Health, etc xv 

The Artist's Make-up and Toilet , xviii 

Explanation of Sig-ns, Abbreviations, etc xxiii 



After the Ball. Samuel Minturn Peck 148 

After the Wedding-. William L. Keese 200 

All. Francis A. Durivag-e 174 

American Art. Mrs. Julia Ward Howe 17 

American Feast, The 33 

Apostrophe to the Watermelon , 199 

Ballad of the Lost Bride , 150 

Ballet Girl, The 68 

Battle-Hymn of the Republic. Mrs. Julia Ward Howe 18 

Beatrice. As rendered by Adelaide Neilson 179 

Blunders. John B. Goug-h 1 

Brutus's Address. As rendered by E. L. Davenport 129 

Camp-Meeting Hymn, A 11 

Cardinal Richelieu. As rendered by Edwin Booth 62 

Cassius to Brutus. As rendered by Lawrence Barrett 125 

Chemist to His Love, The 58 

Chinese Sketch 47 

Cleopatra. As rendered by Helen Potter 112 

Declaration of Rights of the Women of the United States. Eliza- 
beth Cady Stanton 91 

Dogberry and Verges. As rendered by Helen Potter 175 

Dona Sol. As rendered by Sarah Bernhardt , 108 

Evening, At. J. T. Newcomb 194 

For Your Own Sakes. Anna Dickinson. . . 190 

Fourth of July 77 



iv CONTENTS, 

PAGE. 

From the Sublime to the Ridiculous 107 

Girls. Olive Logan I49 

Hamlet. As rendered by Edwin Booth 158 

Ike Parting-ton After the Opera 198 

I Told You So .*.'.'* 117 

Jakey and Old Jacob 140 

Jubilee Song 119 

Juliet. As rendered by Adelaide Neilson 78 

Katharine of Aragon. As rendered by Charlotte Cushman 23 

Lady-Killer, The. Frederic Maccabe 69 

La Musica Trionfante. T. W. Parsons 178 

Large and Small Bosses I43 

Lecture on Art. Oscar Wilde I95 

Literary Curiosity, A 188 

Lord's Prayer in Welsh, The 40 

Mary Stuart. As rendei-ed by Helen Potter 136 

Meg Merrilies. As rendered by Charlotte Cushman 152 

Michael Angelo. William Parsons 41 

My Own Native Land 19 

Negro Boatman's Song, The 118 

Newspapers. Rev. T. Dewitt Talmage 95 

Nydia, the Blind Girl of Pompeii. Lord Lytton 34 

Oh! Rest Thee, Babe 153 

On Trial For Voting. Susan B. Anthony 12 

Ophelia. As rendered by Mme. Helena Modjeska 165 

Othello. As rendered by Tommaso Salvini 216 

Passions, The. William Collins 203 

Peter Gray and Lizianny Querl 182 

Pious Punster, A 189 

Portia and Nerissa. As rendered by Mrs. Mary F. Scott- 

Siddons 98 

Portia at the Bar. As rendered by Miss Ellen Terry 103 

Prince Arthur. As rendered by Helen Potter 183 

Queen Elizabeth. As rendered by Mme. Adelaide Ristori 132 

Reading-Class, The 86 

Rosalind. As rendered by Mme. Helena Modjeska 72 

Russian Soldier, Rest. Robert J. Burdette 131 

Scenes from *' The Tempest." As rendered by Fanny Kemble. . 50 

Sea Bird's Fate, The. John Boyle O'Reilly 181 

Sermon on Lincoln. Henry Ward Beecher 120 



CONTENTS. V 

PAGE. 

Silent Letters. A Study of Visible Expression ; A Study of 

Audible Expression ; Tripartite Expression 212 

Sisters, The. John G. Whittier 192 

Sleep- Walking Scene. As rendered by Helen Potter 83 

Song. Aubrey De Vere 22 

Speech of Abraham Lincoln at Gettysburg 115 

Tableaux, A Series of. Arranged by Helen Potter 207 

Tale of Two Cities, A. 0. E. Melichar 144 

Temperance. John B. Gough 7 

Ten Commandments in "Welsh, The 39 

Ten Sevens, The 71 

Toast, A 151 

Tramp's Soliloquy, The 16 

Trial of Queen Katharine, The. As rendered by Charlotte 

Cushman 20 

Two Good Points Ill 

Vision of War, A. Robert Ingersoll. (With tableaux.) 122 

Wolsey's Soliloquy. As rendered by George Vandenhoff 28 

Women All At Sea 59 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE. 

Beecher, Henry Ward. Port rait. 120 

Booth, Edwin. Costumed as Uamlet 158 

Dickinson, Anna. Portrait 190 

Ing-ersoll, Robert G. Portrait 122 

Kemble, Frances Anne. Porti-ait GO 

Lincoln, Abraham. Portrait 115 

Modjeska, Helena. Costumed as Rosalind 72 

Oplielia 165 

Neilson, Adelaide. Portrait 78 

Parsons, William. Portrait 41 

Potter, Helen. Portrait Frontispiece 

" *' Costumed as John B. Gough 8 

" " ** a Chinese Mandarin 47 

'< ** " Lawrence Barrett as Caserns 125 

'* " " Sarah Bernhardt as Dona Sol 108 

** '* ** Charlotte Cushman as Meg Mer- 

rilies 152 

" " " Susan B. Anthony 12 

♦' ♦♦ ** Cleopatra 112 

" " " Queen Katharine 20 

Ristori, Adelaide. Portrait 132 

Scott-Siddons, Mary F. Costumed for reading- 98 

Stanton, Elizabeth Cady. Portrait 91 

Talmag-e, T. Dewitt. Portrait , 95 

Terry, Ellen. Costumed as Portia 103 

Wilde, Oscar. Portrait 195 



STUDIES. 



OF PERyONS. 

PAGE. 

Anthony, Susan B. : Speech, " On Trial for Voting-. " 12 

Barrett, Lawrence : As Cassius 125 

Beecher, Henry Ward : Sermon on Lincoln „ . „ 120 

Bernhardt, Sarah : As Bona Sol. (French and English text).. . . 108 
Booth, Edwin : As Hamlet. (With music) 158 

" " La Richelieu. (Li two parts) 62 

Cushman, Charlotte : As Queen Katharine. . 20 

" " As Katharine of Aragon 23 

" " As Meg Meirilies. (With music) 152 

Davenport, E. L.: As Brutus 129 

Dickinson, Anna : Lecture, " For Your Own Sakes." 190 

Goug-h, JohnB.: Lecture, ** Blunders.".. 1 

" *< *< ''Temperance." 7 

Howe, Julia Ward : Lecture, "American Art." 17 

Ing-ei^oll, Robert : Speech, " A Vision of War." 122 

Kemble, Frances Anne : Readings from *' The Tempest." 50 

Lincoln, Abraham : " Gettysburg Speech." , 115 

Logan, Olive : Lecture, " Girls." 69 

Maccabe, Frederic : Lecture, " The Lady-Killer." 69 

Modjeska, Helena : Ka Rosalind 72 

" " As Ophelia. (With music) 165 

Neilson, Adelaide : As Juliet , 78 

** ** Ks Beatrice 179 

Parsons, William : Lecture, *' Michael Angelo. " 41 

Ristori, Adelaide : As Queen Elizabeth. (Italian and English 

text) 132 

Salvini, Tommaso : As Othello. (With music) 216 

Scott-Siddons, MaryF.: Reading, "Portia and Nerissa." 98 

Stanton, Elizabeth Cady : Address, "Declaration of Rights." — 91 

Talmage, T. Dewitt. Lecture, " Newspapers." 95 

Terry, Ellen. As Portia 103 

Vandenhoif, George. In " Wolsey's Soliloquy." 128 

Wilde, Oscar. Lecture, "Art." 195 



viii STUDIES. 

OF PIECES. 

ANALYZED BY HELEN POTTER. 

PAGE. 

Chinese Sketch. Music by Edgar S. Kelley 47 

Cleopatra 112 

Dog-berry and Verges 175 

Mary Stuart, in the '* Garden Scene. " 136 

Nydia, the Blind Girl of Pompeii 34 

Passions, The. William Collins. (With tableaux.) 203 

Prince Arthur 183 

Silent Letters. A Study of Visible, Audible and Tripartite Ex- 
pression 212 

Sleep- Walking Scene 83 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 



In all ages we have had artists and orators ; people who 
held the " sacred fire " as their inheritance among men — 
an inheritance more powerful than gold, or wonderful jew- 
els, or landed estates. These men and women were leaders 
of their time, and even unto this day are held in great ven- 
eration and esteem. And the works of artists in clay, 
marble, and iron, and on canvas are enduring, and eagerly 
sought for. But the most wonderful of all, the power of the 
human voice, goes to the winds and is lost forever. Seek 
as we may, the winds tell us not of these masters of oratory 
and song. Their master tones reach not our ears, and we 
know of their power only by tradition. 

Now, with what skill we have, we will endeavor to per- 
petuate some of the work of our own time. The work of a 
few of the best orators and artists of this age and people, 
we will record, as accurately as our methods of annotation 
will allow. Yet, work as we may, our works perish to the 
outer senses. But there is an inner sense that supersedes 
all other senses, as far as mountains excel molehills. This 
sense is sometimes called " intuition ; " sometimes " the 
sixth sense." That we have this sixth sense can be proven ; 
but the power is dumb from neglect and abuse. If we seek 
for it aright, we may reasonably expect it to become mani- 
fest, and serve us as a guide in after years. Truth is eternal. 
That we do not know the truth is our misfortune and affects 
it not at all. The blind may doubt the existence of light, 
but the fact remains. So with our latent powers — that we 
are wholly unconscious of them proves nothing. That we 
have dormant faculties which may yet become factors for 



X AUTHORS FREFACE, 

untold pleasure and pain, is more than possible. Who can 
say after the advent of the phonograph, that we may not 
yet be able to extract music from the walls that surrounded 
the great masters of ages past. Then what a privilege 
would be ours ; then could we go, as did the students of 
old, and receive their lessons again and again. 

As yet, we are a young nation, and, heretofore, our op- 
portunities for special training in artistic work have not 
been all that we could desire. Hence our native talent has 
been largely thrown upon its own resources for develop- 
ment, and crude work has often been the result. But if our 
artistic work has been crude, it has been full of life and 
vigor. The natural current, untrammeled by ancient cus- 
tom and conventional processes, has been left free to flow 
out, and develop its own individuality. Tlien, too, the 
public has been good-natured and indulgent, for which we 
are truly thankful. 

The writer, although unusually well received and sus- 
tained by both the public and the press of this country, has 
never reached her ideal in her platform work ; and it is 
with a sincere desire to be of service to students of dramatic 
art and oratory that she has been led to prepare this oft- 
solicited volume of " Impersonations." Other matter, relat- 
ing to oratory and dramatic art, and still more practical 
hints to beginners, will probably follow. The students of 
to-day have many advantages over those of a quarter of a 
century ago. Then we knew nothing of the great master, 
Frangois Delsarte, and his wonderful science and art of ex- 
pression. We had no " Werner's Voice Magazine," devoted 
exclusively to vocal culture, and filled with finely illustrated 
articles from our ablest teachers and critics. For all these 
things we should be grateful, and apply ourselves dili- 
gently to attain " the heights." 

THE AUTHOR. 



TO STUDENTS. 

HOW TO PREPARE IMPERSOHATIOHS. 



TO STUDY A LECTURER. 

Provided with a smail note-book and several sliort, sharp 
pencils, repair to the lecture-room, and take a seat in the 
middle of the hall, and directly in front of the speaker. 

1. Note his entfance upon the 'platform. — Does he come on 
hurriedly, and nervously arrange his desk and papers ; or 
does he enter deliberately, and be seated ? Does he recog- 
nize his audience before or after he arrives at the desk ? 
Is the recognition formal and dignified, or off-hand and 
familiar ? 

2. Ohserw the general characteristics of the speaker. — Note his 
dominant controlling spirit, before you begin taking notes. 
Is he modest or pretentious ; self-conscious or lost in his 
theme ; does he reason or assert ; is he master of his sub- 
ject or is he bandying words ; is he earnest and sincere in 
what he says, or is he practicing upon the credulity of his 
hearers ; is he transparent or concealing his true motive ? 
Having obtained some definite notion of the speaker as a 
whole, jot it down briefly. A few explicit adjectives will 
prove sufiicient, and save time for a more strictly analytical 
study of him and his peculiarities. 

3. Note his dress, and make some sketches. 

4. Note his attitudes and gestures. — Does he stand with a 
wide or narrow base (i. e., with his feet close together, or 
far apart) ? Does he stand firm, with his weight on both 
feet, or limp and aesthetic, or is his position easy and firm, 
without being either ? As to his gestures, are they varied 
or stereotyped ? If stereotyped, what are they ? Are they 



xii HOW TO PREPARE IMPERSONATIONS. 

up and down, oblique or horizontal, with closed fist or index 
finger ? Does he pound the desk, or shake his hand, with 
spread fingers, high above his head ? And, finally, is he 
all action, or no action ? 

5. Notice his peculiarities of mice, etc. — Is his voice nasal or 
pure, sharp or flat, heavy or light, metallic or liquid, rough 
or smooth, high-pitched or low-pitched, agreeable or disa- 
greeable ? Then, does he hold the vowels or the conso- 
nants ? Are they the nasal-continuants [m, w, ng) only, or 
do they include r, I, and other consonants (e. g., opening 
nasal-continuants, mmovcy nno, rrise, lUfe, wwdste ; closing 
nasal-contiiuiants, hldmme, hegdnn, singng, thrilll, rdshsh, 
miUe, etc.) ? Holding vowel-sounds is far more common and 
more easily detected ; as w^e-ful, wr-«-th, M^-ses, arrf-val, 
p<face-ful, etc. 

6. Does he speak two or three syllables rapidly, then dwell 
upon one 'i — Does this occur somewhat rhythmically; i.e., 
at regular intervals ? 

7. Do his sentences generally end with the rising inflection, or 
the falling, or with compound inflections ? — You may have but 
one opportunity to study a speaker, and all your observa- 
tions must be taken at one sitting. A preacher affords 
greater opportunity for study, yet it is much better to take 
all possible notes at one discourse ; then if the sermon or 
lecture be published, or reviewed at length, you can easily 
obtain the required text, and apply your notes and marks 
thereunto, and your impersonation is finished and ready 
for use. In case the text remains unpublished, it can be 
procured by a stenographer, or perhaps by personal in- 
fluence. 

TO STUDY AN ACTOR. 

This is far more difficult, because the one you desire to 
study is connected with and dependent upon other people, 
and you are obliged to make a monologue out of all of these 
combined situations, movements, and tableaux. You have 



HOW TO PREPARE IMPERSONATIONS xiil 

to portray the unseen characters by your action and deliv- 
ery while identifying yourself with only one> It may be 
necessary to see the play three times. The first time, for the 
plot or story, and to discover the strongest situations, cli- 
maxes, etc. ; the second time for the costumes, special walk, 
attitudes and gestures ; the third time for the peculiarities 
of the artist's elocution, his voice, pitch, force, time, etc. 

Sometimes it is necessary to take all your notes at a 
single performance. In that case, you should procure a 
copy of the play beforehand, if possible, and select one or 
more monologue scenes to study. Sketch the costumes, and 
write the colors and materials upon the sketches before the 
artist arrives at the monologue text, dividing your attention 
between the play-book and the stage. At this point, cease 
all writing and sketching, and concentrate your mind upon 
the stage, and follow the artist you are studying every mo- 
ment until the scene is over. Let his every expression, atti- 
tude, gesture, voice, and all, enter your brain to stay there ; 
let it be "burnt in." As soon as he has finished the text 
selected for the monologue, write out all you can recall of 
the manner, action and elocution of the artist, and number 
the notes to correspond with numbers you will place upon 
the text where the notes apply. After the performance, 
retire to some quiet place, and go over the notes and text, 
adding such notes of action, voice, and manner, as may 
have been omitted in the hurry of the performance. Do 
not fail to do this while it is fresh in your mind ; to-morrow 
the pictures Avill not be so vivid, and the day after they 
may be faded nearly away. Afterward, copy and elabo- 
rate your work for use, and file away the original text or 
play-book for future reference. 

Next comes the costuming of the impersonation. In 
buying material, it is economy to buy goods made of a 
single material ; i. e., all silk, or all wool, etc. Mixed 
goods, as a rule, soon look shabby and mean. Of one thing 



xiv HOW TO PREPARE IMPERSONATIONS. 

be assured at the outset, and that is, that the prettiest cos- 
tumes are not necessarily the most expensive. Taste and 
judgment in selecting colors, styles and combinations, 
complementary to your own individual self, is the key to 
charming attire. 8oft, delicately-tinted cashmeres, draped 
in antique style, are exceedingly becoming for evening 
wear, and with simple ornamentation are quite inexpensive. 
Young persons should avoid velvets and heavy silks, as 
they detract from the youthful appearance, and make one 
look heavy, dull, and uncomfortable. And, again, if you 
select characters suited to your youth — which it is sincerely 
hoped you will — you will not require them. Do not, while 
young, try to impersonate old or disagreeable characters. 
There will be time enough for that when your youth is 
past ; and, beside, the world delights to look on youth, and 
prefers to carry away from an entertainment only thoughts 
of gladness, joy, and sunshine. Therefore, however much 
you may desire to do heavy tragedy, or raving maniacs, 
" Don't ! " and be persuaded to do only bright and agree- 
able things, and comedy.^ 

The dress should be the setting and not the gem. A 
golden angel could not sing, or thrill us with eloquent dis- 
course, though set with diamonds, rubies and sapphires ; it 
is the living angel, with the living voice, that wafts us from 
earth on wings of eloquence or song. Therefore, let your 
voice be attuned, your text well committed, your costumes 
suitable and artistic ; then, forgetting all these things, let 
your soul shine forth. This is the conclusion of the whole 
matter. 

* Tlic writer, with scores of others, made this mistake, and also the mistake 
of putting too much money into costumes. The most expensive things were 
not found available, and lie a dead investment even to this day. 



CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC. 



1. Avoid exposure, sudden changes of temperature, 
draughts, lake winds, damp linen, cold or damp extremi- 
ties, etc. Keep the body at as even a temperature as 
possible. 

2. Do not abuse the voice. Use but not abuse it, 
and protect it at all times. It is said that Adalina Patti car- 
ries a tablet, and communicates only by writing, on the day 
she is to sing in opera. And this extraordinary singer is 
the wonder of the world, because of the continuity of her 
powers ; after years of use, her voice is as fresh and clear 
as ever. Singers appear and disappear; to-day, "Won- 
derful;" to-morrow, "Her voice is gone." Yet here comes 
the well-preserved and matchless diva, year after year, with 
her beauty, her smiles, and her songs. 

3. Do not sit in cold rooms. In going from heated 
rooms to cold places, keep the mouth closed, and put on 
extra wrappings ; also in fog, rain, wind, etc. 

4. Avoid singing or reciting in damp or cold night- 
air, driving, boating, serenading, etc. (8ee 11.) 

5. Breaths through the nose. This is most important. 
A great artist gave that alone as the key to his fine voice 
and its marvelous preservation. When dying, he be- 
queathed the secret to a dea.r friend, saying : " You can 
support yourself by selling this information to artists." 
And so, indeed, he did for many years. There is also a 
volume written, advocating this as a prevention to throat 
and lung-troubles, and setting forth various means of ac- 
quiring the habit of breathing through the nose while 
asleep (e. g., a bit of plaster across the lix)s to keep them 
closed, etc.). 



xvi CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC. 

6. Avoid indigestible food, strong tea and coffee, cake, 
pastry, confectionery, candies, etc. 

7. Avoid stimulants, drugs, tonics, and medicines 
generally. 

8. Avoid lozenges of all kinds. 

9. Avoid drinking "while singing or speaking. Es- 
pecially avoid cold drinks, iced-water, ices, ice-creams, etc., 
at or after vocalizing. (See 11.) 

10. Do not partake of heavy food before a concert. 

When abont to use the voice (in the evening), dine before 
five p. M., and refrain from heavy and late suppers. If you 
dine early, and require it, take a light supper of food that is 
easily digested before, and a similar lunch after the concert, 
such as unbolted wheat gems, bread and milk, cream toast, 
a raw Qgg in a glass of good, pure milk, or in unfermented 
wine, poached eggs on toast, fresh raw oysters. Uncooked 
oysters are very easily and quickly assimilated, and will 
not interfere with the immediate use of the voice, nor keep 
one from sleep. On the contrary, fried oysters are hard to 
digest, and a properly prepared roast or stew is seldom 
found ; usually the oysters are shriveled and tough, the 
broth greasy and poor. 

11. Keep the mouth closed, en route to and from the 

lecture or concert-room. Especially when going from the 
auditorium close the mouth, and cover the lower part of the 
face and throat with a silk scarf, or firm texture of wool. 
This warms the air before it reaches the vocal organs, which, 
being in a heated condition from recent use, should not be 
cooled too suddenly. There is always an unusual flow of 
blood to the throat when considerable vocalization is going 
on, and congestion is imminent unless it is cooled slowly. 
This is why iced-Avater, ices, etc., are to be avoided at and 
after concert or lecture ; also, why one should avoid using 
the voice, to any great extent, when driving, boating, or in 
serenading, etc. (See 4.) 

12. Drugs and stimulants never build up, but, on the 
contrary, destroy natural power. Awid. them all. They do 
not make blood, nor purify the blood which you have ; they 
only set it in violent motion, to try to throw olf the poison. 
And, again, when you work under the lash of spirits or 



CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC xvii 

drugs, you are not conscious of your true condition, and, 
hence, are liable to overdo. Your chosen work is a suffi- 
cient strain upon the nerves, without whipping them into 
unnatural action. If the artist finds stimulants (even 
strong tea or coffee) necessary to his or her work, then he 
needs rest and recreation.'^ 

Professional singers and speakers are often tempted to 
do themselves violence in order to " make a voice," or to 
present a " lively appearance." If you value life and 
health, set your mind strongly against extreme m.easures ; 
and do not hastily submit to surgical operations. 8ome 
physicians have a mania for using the knife. " Your pal- 
ate is too long, and should be trimmed ; " or you are told 
you need a solution of carbolic acid injected into the head 
or throat ; and you are lumbered up with instruments of all 
sorts, for spraying, gargling, steaming, etc. Before con- 
senting to any of these things, consult a conscientious sur- 
geon or physician, one who has no hobby. Nine times out 
of ten, the trouble can be met by simpler and less heroic 
treatment. Hot water com^Dresses, homoeopathic and hy- 
gienic care will not reduce you or confine to a sick bed, as 
powerful nostrums and drugs are likely to do; and then 
you will be able, under favorable circumstances, to continue 
filling your engagements without interruption. Some simple 
suggestions are herein given, in the hope that youth and 
inexperience may escape unfortunate mistakes. In case 
you are not within reach of a competent physician, you can 
often tide over a difficulty by proper knowledge of the 
means, t 

The Throat. — For a constant desire to " hem," or scrape 
the throat, persist in swallowing instead of hacking or 
scraping. This is an opera trainer's rule, and well worth 
observing. 

If the throat is congested after a concert (dark red and 



* The writer has ti-aveled every day, and spoken six evenings a week, for nine 
consecutive months, and is happy in being able to say, in verity, that not once, 
in all that time, nor in the period covering the eighteen hundred evenings she 
has given to platform work, has she ever taken a dose, however small, of the 
drags and stimulants called opium, morphine, laudanum, hashish, valerian, 
cocaine, quinine, etc. In case of extreme prostration, a spontre bath of warm 
water, with a little alcohol or ammonia, has been taken with good effect. This, 
with massage, will prove quite refreshing, and has not the deleterious effect 
upon the vital organs that internal stimulants have. 

t The writer, in fifteen years' travel, never called a physician but oncg. 



xviii CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC, 

swollen'i. apply a warm water compress before retiring. 
Cover it well with dry woolen cloth to keej) it moist and 
warm. In the morning, remove the bandages and bathe 
the throat in cool Avater ; rub with dry hands until it feels 
dry and comfortable ; then dress as usual for the da}". 

For a rough or hoarse voice, instead of taking a trochee, 
before a concert or lecture, take a little glycerine, or honey, 
or raw Q%%^ or loaf sugar saturated with lemon-juice. 

The Eye. — If you have a cinder in your eye, refrain 
from rubbing it, but, in absence of an eye-glass, pull the 
upper or lower lid (as the case may be) over the other lid, 
by means of the eyelashes, and let it slide back ; this will 
often remove the particle from the inner surface. Failing 
in this, wink the eye in water ; this will cause the tears to 
start, and thus help to was^i out the obstruction. If these 
do not answer, press the end of a pencil into the lid (over or 
under the eyeball) and twist it around, rolling up the lid, 
so that the inner surface is outside •; remove the speck Avith 
a soft handkerchief. 

To save the eyes, avoid exposing them to uneven light ; 
^. e., with the bright glare full upon one eye while the other 
is in shadow. Shade the eyes, if possible, from strong or 
flickering light. If no other means can be found, cut out a 
semi-circle of paper and fasten about the brow. 



The Artist's Make-up and Toilet. 

The better the workman, the fewer the tools. So with an 
artist, the better the artist, the less number of things is re- 
quired to make up the face, etc. White, red and brown 
powder, grease-jjaint to blend the wigs to the forehead, and 
to line the face, Indien farde for shading about the eyes 
and brows, and oil (cold cream or cocoa butter) to remove 
cosmetics, are the staple articles for a make-up. 

The soft tip of a finger will answer in ])lace of a hare's 
foot to apply rouge, and a bit of soft chamois is better than 
a puffer to apply white powder, since one can touch up in 
lines and spots, "when required, much better with the former 
than the latter. The puffer sifts the powder all over the 
face, and costume as well. The grease-paint comes in 



CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC xix 

sticks, and can be used in that form. Indien farde re- 
quires a pointed stump or roll of kid (which can be bought 
wherever artists' materials are kept) to make a narrow line 
next the lashes and darken the brows. India ink is better 
than Indien farde where quick changes are to be made, 
since it is easily removed with a moist cloth, while the farde 
can scarcely be removed with soap or oil India ink, if 
used, requii'es a sable brush, such as is used in painting in 
water-colors. 

Before beginning to make up, oil the skin and wipe with 
a soft cloth; after the performance, clean thoroughly with 
oil (or very fine soap and oil after). In this way only can 
you hope to keep a fine complexion. Ladies prefer flesh 
cream to grease-paint, as it is of finer material and blends 
readily Use as little as possible to cover a given surface ; 
a bit the size of a pea, taken in the palm of the hand, will 
cover the entire face.* 



Violets. — For a warm bath, equal parts of wheat bran, 
orris powder and castile soap, sewed in a bag and used in 
place of a sponge, will soften the skin and leave an odor of 
violets. 

Protection from Wind and Sun. — For boating, driving 
and other exposure to wind or sun, anoint the face and apply 
rice powder freely, making a coating over the face and 
neck. Remove with soft, hot water, and Coudray's glycerine 
soap, followed by cold cream. Vaseline should not be used 
upon the face, as its tendency is to stimulate the growth of 
hair, and will cover the face with a soft dowm. 

To Remove Wrinkles. — Before retiring, wash the face 
with soft water, as hot as you can bear, in which a small 
bit of bi-carbonate of soda has been dissolved; wipe with 
soft linen and apply cream, or cold cream. The soda 
cleanses the pores, the hot water puffs the skin, and the oil 
keeps it so. Another method of removing wrinkles is : 
The white of an ^g^ beaten up, and applied to the face 
over night, and washed off with tepid water in the morning. 

A Hand-"wash, and fragrant disinfectant : \ pint of 
rose-water; 2 teaspoonfuls best glycerine; 5 drops each 

* For special information, address tUo author, in caro ol" Vf jerxer's Voice 
Magazine, New York City, 



XX CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC, 

of camphor and carbolic acid. If this recipe is followed 
exactly, the odor will be of rose-water only, and no oil ap- 
preciable. Cleanse the hands with warm water and tine 
soap ; then apply the w^ash. 

Cold Cream for the Complexion.— 2 oz. oil of sweet 
almonds; \ oz. spermaceti; 1 dr. white wax. Melt to- 
gether, and stir while cooling, vM hoil. Add two oz. rose- 
water, stirring it in a little at a time. The value of the 
cold cream as a beautitier depends largely upon the oil of 
sweet almonds. This oil, being expensive, is rarely found, 
even at wholesale druggists, in its genuine pure quality. 

To Stop a Cold Sore. — At the first indication of a cold 
sore, press the spot with a thimble or other hard substance, 
and apply tincture of camphor ; repeat every tive minutes 
until the swelling is controlled, that is, until it ceases to in- 
crease; in a few hours it Vvdll go aw^ay. 

Gloves. 

Draw and stroke them on, for if they are pushed 
on in wrinkles they will never after tit smoothly over 
the joints. When the tingers of left glove are w^ell on, pull 
back the hand of the glove, and insert the thumb. Before 
fastening it, slide the thumb of the right hand far into the 
palm of the left, and, turning it tow^ard the little tinger, 
slide it outward and downw^ard to the waist, thus stretching 
it with the thumb and forefinger, and bringing it to place. 
Fasten, and reverse the process for the right hand. To re- 
move the gloves, unfasten, and turn them off" (wrong side 
out) until you come to the middle of the fingers : then take 
them off" by the tips, and, while warm, smooth and straighten 
them. If the gloves are cold before putting them on, or 
when smoothing and stretching them to place in the glove- 
box, blow breath into them until they are warm and 
soft. 

Hose. 

If the feet and ankles are likely to be cold in silk 
stockings and slippers, wear a pair of fine lisle or cotton 
hose imder the silk ones. It will make no difference in the 
general effect, and will save a deal of discomfort and colds. 
Many opera singers wlio have to match the stockings to 



CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC. xxi 

each costume, put on two or three pairs at the outset, and 
remove the outer ones as they proceed. It saves time, and 
is not uncomfortable. Of course, the bare-foot or toed stock- 
ings cannot be put on over other hose, but other hose can be 
put on over them, provided the bare-foot scene comes last in 
the order of costumes. It has been found that some people 
cannot wear colored stockings, as the ordinary dyes seem 
to irritate and cause the feet to swell.* * 

Bare-foot Sandals. — The nearest effect to bare feet 
can be produced by sole-leather cut the shape of the bot- 
tom of your feet, and fastened on with flesh-colored elastic 
bands, garter width. To obtain the pattern, stand with the 
w^eight on the right foot, and, with a pencil held upright, 
draw a mark around it. Reverse the x)attern for the left 
foot. When you have the soles cut, have also a pair of 
thick white kid duplicates cut for linings, and have eight 
small holes punched in the margin of the leather soles, and 
a groove pressed in, connecting them in pairs. The holes 
are for the wire to pass through to make fast the elastic 
bands, and the grooves to sink the wire into the leather. 
Put the kid linings in after the elastic bands have been 
made fast, and ilnir^h by connecting the bands on the instep 
with the sole beneath the toes. This is done by passing 
the silk tape between the big toe and the next one, and 
fastening it above and below. This keeps the sandal from 
sliding back ; if it slides forward, a small band of the same 
color as the hose should be put around the heel. These 
home-made, inexpensive sandals, when worn over flesh-col- 
ored toed stockings, give the effect of bare feet, and at the 
same time serve to keep the feet from the floor. 

It is conforming to true art to dress the feet to correspond 
with the race, person, and time which are being represented. 
French heels and satin slippers on an Indian or Arab is dis- 
tressing to an audience. Dress, also, according to the 
necessities of the occasion ; if fishing, dress for fishing, not 
for a ball. It must be exceedingly trying for the actors in 
a play like the "Danites" (a very strong, historic play, 
which will be better and better appreciated as the years roll 
by), to have to pretend ignorance of the fact that the boy 
stranger is really a woman, when every child in the au- 
dience recognizes the fact from first to last. To wear 



* Bathe tired or swollen feet in alcohol and -water, equal parts. 



xxii CARE OF THE VOICE, HEALTH, ETC, 

corsets and exaggerate the distinctive form of woman when 
disguised, is as al3surd as it is inartistic. 

Lights. — The experienced artist is aware, that the poorer 
the light on a platform or stage, the fresher and better must 
be gloves, slippers, and, indeed, everything she wears ; and 
the brighter the lights, the less conspicuous will be any im- 
perfections in the outfit. Please bear this in mind, and if 
there is scanty or feeble light, no foot-lights, wear your 
freshest, newest gown, gloves, etc. It is like a daylight 
matinee ; the usual evening make-up, or an excess of pow- 
der, becomes grotesque and ridiculous. An artist should 
not approach the footlights within a distance equal to his 
or her height. 



ABBRKVIATIONS, ETC.^ 



Sounds of Letters. 
Units. 

1 e as in eve. 8 e as in met. 14 tli as in this. 

2 a as in ale. 9 a as in at. 15 n, as in no. 

3 a as in arm. 10 o as in not. ^g ^^ ^^ ^g i„ | ink. 

4 a as in all. 11 u as in up. ^ song-. 

5 o as in old. 12 u as in full. 17 g- {hard) as in go. 

6 o as in do. 13 th as in thin. 18 g {soft) as in gem. 

7 1 as in it. 

Diphthongs. 

1 i {ue) as in rice. 4 6i, 67 as in oil, boy. 

2 u {eo) as in flute. 5 6 u as in our. 

"^ t g ^^^^^^ ^^ '"^ 1 gem. 7 wh (fiw) as in when. 

Signs for Pitch, Force and Time.! 
1 (°) high pitch. 6 (si.) slow. 

3 (o) low pitch. 7 (p.) soft. 

3 (°°) high and loud. 8 (f.) loud. 

4 (00) low and loud. 9 (ace.) quickening speed. 

5 (q.) quick. 10 (rit.) slackening speed. 

Signs Placed Before, and Applying to, Words and 

Phrases. 

I bar, means a halt, or short rhetorical pause. 

II double bar, means a longer rhetorical pause. 
( — ) monotone, to the next bar or change. 

( / ) rising pitch, to the next bar or change. 
( \ ) downward pitch, to the next bar or change. 
{s<C)\{<i) increase in force, to the next bar or change. 
( > ) decrease in force, to the next bar or change. 
{-^ tremulous voice, to the next bar or change. 
( ^^ ) go down and up on the phrase or sentence. 
( ^^ ) go up and down on the phrase or sentence. 
^^>^ go up, down and up on the phrase or sentence. 
v.^-^ go down, up and down on the phrase or sentence. 

* Used as a guide to rendition. For letter sounds see Webster. 
t Any one of these signs ov&r a word or syllable applies to that word or 
syllable only. 
+ (s <) means increase in force through the entire series, or sentence. 



xxiv ABBREV1A210NS, ETC. 



Qualities op Voice. 

1 oro. {deep) orotund. 4 era. (head-voice) oral. 

2 g-ut. (rough) guttural. 5 # (sharp) falsetto. 

3 asp. (whispered) aspirate. 6 (^ (flat) nasal. 

Abbreviations Indicating Gesture. 
(r. h. s.) right hand supine j'To receive, give, support, rescue; 

(pahn up) ^ things floating, good, success- 

[ ful, etc. 
(r. h. p.) right hand prone f to put down, bury, suppress, for- 

(palm down) ^ get, quiet, hush; sinking, hope- 

I less, etc. 
(r. h. V.) right hand vertical fto repel, banish, resist; lost, past, 
(palm vertical) .,. ] forgotten ; fear, fright, dismay, 
I horror. 

(b. h. s.) both hands supine .. 1 

(b. h. p.) both hands prone. .. }> larger area, more extended than 

(b. h. V.) both hands vertical.. J with one hand only. 

(d. f.) . , . descending front .... toward the floor, in front of speaker. 

(h. f.). . . horizontal front toward the wall, in front of speaker. 

(a. f.)... ascending front toward the ceiling, in front of 

speaker. 

(d. e.)... descending extended toward the floor, right or left of 

speaker. 

(h. e.)... horizontal extended, toward the side-walls, right or left 

of speaker. 

(a. e.)... ascending extended, toward the ceiling, right or left of 

speaker. 

(d. 0.)... descending oblique, downward, between front and ex- 
tended. 

(h. o.)... horizontal oblique., horizontal, between front and ex- 
tended. 

(a. 0.)... ascending oblique., upward, between front and ex- 
tended. 



HELEN POTTER'S 

IMPERSONATIONS 



BLUNDERS 



A STUDY OF JOHN B. GOUGH. 



^^=^:^OLUMES could be written | upon blunders | 
Jf A \^zJ and not exhaust the subject. Blunders 

» H «j which make us laugh, and blunders | which 

@9J£> make us shudder. Human experience | is 

^^>^ fiSx full of them. We laugh at phases of drunk- 
enness. I do not blame people for laughing. Man is the 
only animal that can laugh, | and he ought to enjoy his 
privilege. One poor fellow, | somewhat the worse for drink, 
fell down a flight of thirty or forty steps, | — in Erie, Pa., 
and when a man rushed to help him up, he said, [drunken 
wice] "oGro away, I don't want your help. That's the way | I 
*^ always | Qcoine down stairs." We laugh at the man who 
came home at four o'clock in the morning and said it was 
one. " But," said his wife, " the clock has just struck four." 
*' I know better," he replied, " for I heard it strike one \ 
Qre°peatedly." 

Absent-mindedness is often the source of ludicrous blun- 
ders, I as in the case of the cooper, who put his son | into 
the barrel to hold up the head, | and found when he had 
finished that the boy w^as in the barrel, | with no way of 
escape. 

Blunders often occur | in efforts to "correct ^them. A 
speaker once said, (b) ^* You ask us to work for posterity; | 



2 HELEN POTTERS 

what, I would ask you, | lias pos^ter^i^ty | ever done for 
°us ? " Which caused his audience to laiigh, — and he cor- 
rected himself thus : " I don't mean those who come directly 
before us, | but those ^par°ticujar°ly \ °in^stanfly \{\) 
°subseque7it.'' Another one said, "Mr. Chairman, I deny 
the allegation, | and de^ \ the alligator.'' 

We are apt to call all blunders in words | " Bulls ; " but I 
believe the pure bull | to be a contradiction in terms ; as, 
" I met you this morning and you didn't come; | now I'll 
meet you to-morrow morniiig, | whether you come | or 
not." I An invalid once said, '' If I'd stayed in that place 
till now, I I'd have been dead two years ago." 

I once saw a notice on a ferry-boat : | " Persons are 
requested not to leave this boat | until made fast to the 
dock." A minister once announced to his congregation, 
that, (--) "A woman died | very suddenly | last Sunday, | 
while I was preaching the gospel, | in a beastly state | of 
intoxication." Blunders in advertisements | are unlim- 
ited : " All persons in this town owning dogs, | shall be 
muzzled." " Two young wom'en | want washing." " A 
young man wanted | to take care of a horse | of a reli- 
gious turn of mind." "To be sold | a pianoforte, | the 
property of a musician | with carved legs." 

But it is of great importance, | while we are moved to 
"laughter | by the blunders that are made, | that at the 
same time | we remember not to count it an irksolne task | 
to avoid I making mistakes. Look at our vast continent, | 
with its various climates and soil, | its mountains and val- 
leys, I its wonderful wealtK, | underground, | and above 
ground. | Look at the space we occupy upon the surface 
of the earth, | and the space we must occupy | in history. | 

Have we blundered in the past ? Yes, we ""have ^blun- 
dered in the p^t, | and we are blundering °now. We 
blunder" | when we lay waste our grand old forests, | our 
coal-fields, | our vast mineral wealth. We blunder | when 



IMPJ^RSONATIONS. 3 

we waste the public money, and increase our taxes. | We 
blunder ) when we elect bad men to office. We blunder | 
when we fail to care for the poor | and the (\) °suifering, | 
^<di our land. 

"Imagine, if you can, | all the children of this great na- 
tion, I properly cared for, | for a single generation. ^What 
would be the result ? °Six hundred and forty-eight little 
ones, I under five years of age, | died in one week, | in the 
city of New York, | among the poorer classes. 

Come with me, | and I'll show you a °scene | I once wit- 
nessed. Turn from this street of palaces | and look upon 
a °new ^world. Every step you advaiice | brings you in 
contact with scenes darker, filthier, | and more degraded. 
Sickening odors | heavy | with disease | come from open 
cellars ; oaths ring out | from subterranean dens. Here 
on the filthy sidewalk | are children, | that are walking 
heaps of rags. "Childr'eh | who never hear a mother pray, | 
^but often | hear her swear. Children | who must inevita- 
bly^ I fill our priso"ns, penitentiari^, poor-houses and worse. 
Can they be rescued ? Hear how keen their cutting sar- 
casms ; how sharp their rough criticisms ! What if all this 
acuteness, | all these sharp intellects, | were trained for 
humanity | and HeaveTi, | instead of being trained to prey 
upon society ! Do we not blunder, | in doing nothing for 
their rescue ? 

"Come with me, | and see where they live ! Come from 
your pleasant homes, | where children | play and prattle 
around you, | and climb your kne^ ! (\) Come from your 
family altars ! | Come from the comforts and luxuries, | 
that God has given ""you^ \ and see where these children | 
°live ! "Je^sus (\) °loved little children; | and whoso 
giveth a cup of cold water | to these little ones | shall not 
lose his reward. 

°See that broken door, | hanging by a single hinge ! ( — ) 
qNo fear of burglars °here ! ^En^ter ! (/) Is this a cage 



4 MMLEJS! POTTER'^ 

of wild arximals? °°N0 ! °men, women and childreu, | 
not beasts, | dwell here ! Every square foot | of the filthy 
floor I has °its occupants ! "Here | are the wretched beg- 
gars; the drunken | in their debaucheries; gray hairs 
I and auburn locks ; | old and young ; | black and white; | 
sick and suffering; | innocent and guilty, all | herding 
together ! 

°Here | the °Tohhe'r ^brings his "plun^der ! Here the ( \ ) 
° murderer \ ^hides ! | °Here the ^oorgirl \ (^God help her) | 
"brings her horrible | earnings ! He^, | amidst fumes of 
poisonous liquors, | they spend their lives | in darkness ! 
^And such scenes are to be witnessed in every large city, 
and that, too, | within the sound | of church bells I ^Oh, 
they are a hard set ! Yes, they lie | and steal. ^ 

^Their sins of commission are "awful, \ ^but what are 
°our ^sins | of "o^misswh ! As we gaze in horror | into the 
abyss where they live, | and shudd'er | at their degrada- 
tion, I do not some of us think "I am guilty of neglect | 
toward my brother?" | Reports | of "News-boys' Lodging- 
houses," I "Homes for the Friendless," | and " Charity 
Schools," I show much has been done for them, | but they 
need something °more ^than instruction. Let rich men, | 
out of their abundaiice, | invest in clean and cheap lodg- 
ing-houses ; I provide cheap and wholesome recreatioii. Let 
them, have "music, \ ^with°out \ lager beer; amusement, \ 
(\) without vice \ aud crime. 

Society must °pay | ^for the blunders it makes. | It is the 
in°evitable. We may put seed into the groraid | and com- 
mand it not to grow, but it wfll, \ and will bring forth fruit 
I according to its kind. No pov/er of ours | can prevent it. 
And so I the seeds of vice and crime, | that we allow to 
enter into the soil of society, | will sprout and grow thei^e ! 
and will bring forth fruit | according to its kind. 

The middle of August, 1875, ended a strike in the coal 
fields of Pennsylvania. The miners | received their wages; 



IMFERSOXA TIONS, 5 

^aiid what was the resiiTt ? Why, | the press of the (\) 
"^^whole coimtTy rakg | with accounts of the panclemonium 
which followed. People shut themselves within doors, | 
and hid themselves ; | because °MURDER was loose, and 
life was not safe. | The whiskey shops | had a night of it. 
Oh, if the miners had only t^triick against the °liquoTj)mi' 
ncss then ! 

°I am not an advocate of strikes, | ^but with °all ^my (\) 
^heart, and soiil, | and might, | and mind, | and strength, \\ 
I °do (/) ^advocate | a unanimous and persisierFt strilfe"! 
against this business. Strike against it | ^at home ! Strike 
against it | at public receptions ! Strike against the cut 
glass and decanter of the tipler, the whiskey-tiask | and 
rum-jug I of the inebriate! ° Strike \ in the name of 
justice, I PURITY I and HUMANITY ! ^St'i^e \ for the love 
of your country, and in behalf of drunkards' wives and chil- 
dren ! ° Strike against It, | at the (\) ballot-box! \ ° Strike 
against "it, | in your churclies! Strike against it, | at the 
family altar | in the Jwur of 'prayer I \ °Strike ! "''Strike | 
°TiLL YOU °°DiE ! ^aud by God^s hlelp | we may do some- 
thing I to repair the most ° awful blunder | of the nineteenth 
century ! 

John B. Gough, a celebrated lecturer on temperance, was boi-n at 
Sandgate, Kent, England, August 22, 1817, and died at Frankford, 
Pa., Februp.ry 18, 1886. He was lecturing in the First Presbyterian 
Church when he was attacked with cei-ebral apoplexy, and died two 
days later. He came to America in 1829, and while learning the 
bookbinding business in New York fell into habits of intemperance, 
and finally sank to the lowest depths of poverty and wretchedness. 
Having been induced about 1840 to sign the total abstinence jiledge, 
he became deeply interested in the tempei-ance reform, and soon 
distinguished himself as one of the most eloquent and success- 
ful advocates of the cause. From 1843 to his death, he devoted 
himself almost without interruption to lecturing on temperance, in 
the United States, Canada, and the British Islands. He has spoken 
nearly one hundred times on the subject of temperance in Exeter Hall, 
London. Mr. Gough combined in an eminent degree the qualities of 
an actor with those of a great oi'ator. His autobiography was pub- 
lished in 1846 aud a volume of his orations in 1854. 

In appearance Mr Gough was of medium size and height, v/ith a 



6 HELEN POTTERS 

kind and sympathetic magnetism, which could not be resisted. He 
won his liearers at the very outset and held them to the last. In his 
later years he wore his gray hair long, reaching to the edge of his 
collar, and his beard, also nearly white, was v/oi-n uncut and flow- 
ing down over his bosom. His head was lai-gely developed in 
the region of perception, giving gi-eater depth to his eyes. His 
international popularity renders any attempt to portray his won- 
derful oratorical power futile. He told a story and acted it inimi- 
tably ; you not only saw the scene but felt it all. Any attempt to 
impersonate his rare gift of mimicry, his pathos and humor, must, 
l)erforce, fall short of the original. He was an eccentric comedian of 
the rarest sort, and he lectui-ed more years and to more people than 
any other speaker of whom we have any account. He was called the 
Prince of the Lyceum, and merited the title. He often closed a lecture 
by saying, " May I die in the harness ; " and so he did die. He was 
taken from the platform before he had completed his lecture, and 
never recovered. 

CosTUMK AND RENDITION. — A gray wig and full, long whiskers ; an 
evening suit of black broadcloth, (dress coat) ; a narrow, black silli 
neck-tie, a tui-n-down collar, and a watch and chain. Enter with an 
overcoat on your arm, place it over a chair, sit down and look about. 
Then rise, take a sip of water, wipe your mouth with a white hand- 
kerchief, replace it in the coat pocket (rear), straighten up, and 
begin your lecture. If you are not in full sympathy with your sub- 
ject, do not attempt this impei-sonation, as neither the subject nor thi-; 
lecturer should be caricatured ; and, furthermore, the public will not 
accept it. Mr. Gough is cherished in the hearts of the people, and 
his memory revered. You should be as earnest and honest in your 
work as was that " prince of lectui-ers." The writer never undertook 
the impersonation without a silent invocation, or prayer, for the right 
spirit to go out with the woi-ds, that they might bear the power of con- 
viction with them, and reach the souls of all within reach of her voice. 

In attempting male impersonations, a lady should wear the dress 
coat and vest, with linen attached, over a plain, black broadcloth 
skirt ; and a low curtain or screen should run from the entrance to 
the desk, so as to conceal the skirt nearly to the waist-line. 

There is a strong climax, commencing "See that broken, etc." 
Point and look at an imaginary door, and shrink from it as you go 
on. Exclaim in consternation, "Is this a cage of wald animals?" 
Answer your question with an intense " iVo / " running down half an 
octave from a high start, and quickly add, " Men, women and child- 
ren, not leasts, dwell here ! " giving the downward inflection on 
"children" and up on "beasts." 

Another climax commences with "Hei-e are the wi-etched beggars ! " 
and ends with "Spend their lives in darkness." Speak the lines 
rapidly, and inci-ease in force as you proceed, bringing out the woi'ds 
"robber," "murderer," "girl," "earnings," etc., vei-y pi-ominently. 

The thii'd and last climax commences with a series of "strikes." 
Commence in ordinary declamatoi-y pitch of voice ; at each strike in- 
crease the volume arid pitch until you finish with " Strike till you 
PIE ! " 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 



TEMPERANCE, 



A STUDY OF JOHN B. GOUGH. 




E want public sentiment | against tlie liquor 
traflB.e ; public sentiment | backed by law | 
to protect society. We want public senti- 
ment I to banish liquor from private tables ; | 
"there's w^here half the drunkards learn to 
drink ! 

Can I teach a young man to drink by showing him the 
results of diink ? \ No, | I can't do it ! It's impossible ! 

I have a fine boy j ust merging into manhood | and I take 
him out I to teach him to drink. | We go into a gin-shop 
and call for glasses of beer, | and my boy says to me, | 
" Father, | what makes these men look so ! " | and I 
answer, | " It's °liquor, my boy, | come | have a glass, won't 
yoii ? " and he says, | " °No^! J. won't touch It ! " 

I take him to an ° insane ^asylum, \ and he looks in upon 
the inmates there; \ and he says to me, " Father, what sent 
this young man here ?" (\) " ° Liquor brought him he"re, 
have a glass, | won't you?" | and he says, "No! no! | 
why I this is °dread„ful ! " 

I take him to a °clubJiouse; he hears the jest and song; 
he hears words he never heard befo^, words | of which 
he knows not the meaning. | His natural purity asserts 
itself. "Let us go away from here; | I don't like to 
stay he're ; what makes these men °talk"so ? " | " Oh, they've 
been drinking, m.y boy, ( \ ) take a drink, | Avon't joxi ? " 
" A'^o, no! di, thousand times °no ! °by the memory of my 



8 HELEN POTTERS 

^mothei'; by the purity of my °sist^r, — "" Not \ ^I won't 
touch it ! " 

I take him to a '''prhon \ and he looks in upon the °con- 
victs othere ; and my boy says to me, " Father, | what sent 
this fine-looking old man here ; | he don't look like a bad 
man | at all ! " and I say, " He's not a bad man at heart, | 
my boy, | but he committed an awful crime | when he was 
\mder the influence of liquor | and so there he is | for life. 
(/)Have a glass of ^liq^uor, | my boy!" " °°N0, KO ! 
^father, | (\) take me home ; | Tm sick!" Can I teach 
him to drink, by showing the results of drink ? . ^No, | ^I 
can't do it. | It can't be done ; | but let me conceal the 
results I and he'll drink. The minister and the judge | are 
to °dine | ^witli me | and I order pure wine for the occasion. 
I pour out a glass of wine for the minister | and another 
for the judge | and another | saying: " ^Have a glass of 
°wine, my boy?" And he says, "Yes, father, | thank 
you;" I (<^) and he takes it and drinks it. | He likes 
it. He drinks more and likes that, | he becomes a drunk- 
ard and °°clies \ in the despair of delirium ; [hands up and 
pushing the hair into disorder] ^and who taught him to drink ? 

We want public sentiment to banish liquor from private 
tables, for I tell you | there's where half the drunkards 
{y) ^learn to drink. 

Men who talk very sensibly | on all other subjects | talk 
like fools I on the subject of ^temperance. | A man said to 
me I only the other day, | [thumbs in arinholes] : " °Well," 
^said Ke^ " °I consider the liquor traffic a legitimate business ; 
I guess I've a right to sell liquor if I want to — men needn't 
come and °huy ^niy °liqu"or unless they please ; | "I'm not 
responsible for theiii." ( \)°You are not responsible Joi^ th'eni ! 
^Let's see. 

°There was a boy down in Connecticut | sick unto death | 
from alcoKol, | and when he was able to understand what 
was said to him I the doctor said, | " Johnily, my boy, I 




HELEN POTTER AS JOHN B. GOUGH. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 9 

think I can pull you °thro' ^this time, | but I may as well 
tell you now, Johnny, ^no \ power on earth \ can save you \ 
if you drink again — even a single glass, Johnny." \ 

[Weak and pausing.] " Oh, doctor, | you don t know what 
I've suifered ; | I'm °mad | for drink ; | I don't feel as 
though I could ever let it alone, doct^'; | I've | suffered 
so, I that if I knew | there was no physical torment for 
me in hell, | I'd commit suiciS^; I've suffered °twenty 
deaths. Why, doctor, | I've felt great black spiders | 
drag their damp bodies | and hairy legs | all over my 
face and (/)°into my mouth ! [tearing the hair, and breath- 
ing short and hard] °0h, ^doctor! I'll never drink any 
more, °never, °°never, ^neve7\f'* 

After a while this poor boy was able to get out of 
doors ; | he was convalescent ; weak and tottering on two 
sticks, I he took his first walk ; | ^and where do you think 
he went ? | °He went straight across the street to a dram- 
sh'op I and drank a glass of liquor; \ ^and that | ended 
him. 

That liquor-dealer (\)°knew this ^young °man | ^person- 
ally — knew he had just escaped death | from drink; knew 
another drink would kill him, and yet he sold him the 
liquor; \ he was puTsumg legitimate business; lawful trade! 
(/)Was that liquor-dealer a murderer? Yes, | he was a 
murd&rer ! and that young man's blood will cry from out 
the ground in the day of judgment | and ^ac°cuse Jiim of 
°murder. 

No man has a right to pursue a business which ruins his 
neighbor ; | which is a °plague ^in the land. 

You all laugh at the antics of a drunken man ; you laugh 
at thought of the poor inebriate who blundered into church 
on Sunday morning, thinking it a theatre, just in time to 
hear the minister say ( — ) "Who in this audience | is will- 
ing to be a goat ? Who, I repeat, in this vast ( /) audience | 
is willing to be a goat .« " 



10 HELEN POTTERS 

No one responding, and thinking there must be something 
wrong behind the sceiTes, the poor drunkard rose to his feet, 
saying, \reeling^ "Look'u here, mister, | now rather'n to 
have the play stop, | I'll be the goat myself I " 

And of the other poor fellow, | when the minister said, 
"Where's the drunkard; where's the drunkard ? " rose to his 
feet saying, "Here I am. Sir, here I [hie] am! " The min- 
ister went on to say, " ° Where's the hypocrite; ° where's 
i\\Q hypocri^'i'' No one responding, the poor fellow rose 
again and pointing to a man in the audience, said : "Deacon 
Smithj II why don't you git Tip ? / did [hie] when they called 
me!'' ^ 

But it's no laughing matter | after all ; and if this cause 
is right I it will succeed ; | if it's good | it will win. 

It will come | °bye ^and °bye, | when the hosts we have 
labored for, | come up over a thousand battle-fields, | wav- 
ing in golden grain, °?2e?;ef || ^tobe crushed | in the distillery. 

It will come | obye °and ^bye, | ^when the trellised vines 
hang thick with their purple glory, | ° never \\ ^to be 
pressed into that which can degrade a man. 

It will come | °bye aiid obye, | when men give their labor 
elsewhere, | and their orchards hang thick | with pulpy, 
luscious fruit, | ° never \\ ^to be pressed | into that which can 
destroy society. 

{/)J.i will coine | °bye and ^bye. 

( — )° Bye and bye | ^we shall come to the last fire | in 
the last distillery | and shall put it out. | 

°Bye and bye I ^we shall come to the last stream | of 
liquid death, | and shall seal it up | forever. | 

°Bye and bye I we shall come to the last little child | 
(/) and shall lift it up and standlt | ^where God intended 
it I to stand. | 

(- -) qBye and bye I we shall come to the last heart-broken 
wife I and shall wipe her tears away ! 

°5ye and bye I we shall come to the last \ poor drunkard \ 



IMPERSONATIONS. 11 

and shall nerve him to strike off his burning fetters, | and 
shall help him make a glorious accompaniment | (/) to the 
song of freedoiii | by the clanking | of his broken chains ! 

(--) qBye and bye I ^thepale horse | ^with °Death for a 
ridei' | will receive a check, which will throw him (\)°°back 
upon his haunch'es, | and the loud shout of deliverance shall 
be heard ° yonder [pointing to Heaven], and there shall be 
joy in heaven, | when the triumphs of this, \ and every 
other I great moral enterprise", | shall usher in the triumphs | 
of the cross of Christ ! ^I believe i^ | and for this | I work ; 
and when I die, [ may I die (/) in the ^harness, | with the 
prayer ever "fervently upon my lips, | "God bless the 
Right ! " 

[For description of costume, etc., see page 6]. 



A CAMP-MEETING HYMN. 



The following" quaint hymn was sung- at a negro camp-meeting in 
Illinois : 

REMEMBER ME. 

Why don't you do as Peter did, 

A-walking oii the sea ? 
He throwed both arms about his head. 

Crying, " Good Lord, remember me ! " 
Then remember the rich and remember the poor, 

And remember the bound and the free. 
And when you are done remembering round, 

Then, good Lord, remember me. 

If I could stand where Moses stood, 

And view the landscape o'er, 
I'd throw these legs as fast as I could — 

And I'd go for the milk-white shore. 
Then remember the rich and remember the poor. 

And remember the bound and the free, 
And Avhen you are done remembering round, 

Then, good Lord, remember me. 



12 HELEN POTTERS 



OH TRIAL FOR YOTIHG. 



A STUDY OF SUSAN B. ANTHONY. 



Argument. — The following speech is taken from the stenographic 
Official Report of the proceedings at the trial of Susan B. Anthony, 
in Rochester, N. Y., for voting for President Grant. She cast a 
vote for the General, to test the 15th Amendment of the Constitu- 
tion of the United States, in regard to universal franchise, and was 
arrested, tried, and convicted of misdemeanor. Miss Anthony pre- 
pared an elaborate defense to read when called upon by the judge 
for reason why sentence should not be pronounced. She rose to 
make some preliminary remarks, before reading her paper; but 
the remarks covered the entire ground .of controveisy ; therefore 
she resumed her seat. The •' remarks " constitute the text of 
this impersonation. 

ISS ANTHONY \peated upon the platform]. 
Voice b. ( — ) Has the prisoner anything 
to gay why sentence shall not be pro- 
nounced ? 

Miss A. [rising.] Yes, your honor, | I 
have ( \ ) many things to say ; | for in your 
ordered verdict of guilty, you have trampled under foot | 
every | vital | principle | of our (\) government, (.s <) My 
(\)^natural rights | my (\)°civil rights, my "political 
rights, I my (\)°judicial rights | are all alike | ignored. 
Robbed of the fundamental privilege of citizenship, | I am 
degraded | from the status of a citizen to that of a subject ; 
I and not only myself individiTally, but all of my sex, | are, 
by your honor's verdict, doomed to political sub°jection | 
under this, so-called, Re°publican form of (\) government, 
(s <<) Your denial of my citizen's right to vote, | is the denial 
of my right of consent | as one of the governed ; | the denial 





HELEN POTTER AS SUSAN B. ANTHONY. 



IMFERSONATIONS. 18 

of my riglit of representation | as one of the taxed ; | the 
denial of my right | to a trial by a jury of my °pe"ers | ^as 
an offender against law, | therefore, | the denial of my 
sacred rights | to life, | liberty, — property. | 

Voice b. ( — ) The Court orders the prisoner to sit down. 

MiBS A. [still standing/.] But your honor will not deny me 
this one and only poor privilege of protest against this high- 
handed outrage | upon my citizen's rights. May it please 
the court to remember | that since the day of my arrest last 
November, | this is the first time | that either myself or 
°any ^persoii | of my disfranchised class | has been allowed 
a word of defense before judge or jury — 

Voice b. Sit down ! Sit down ! 

Miss A. [still standing.] All of my prosecutors, | from the 
8th ward corner grocery politician, who entered the com- 
plaint, I tothe United States Marshal, | (s<^) Commissioner, 
District Attorney, | District Judge, | your honor on the 
bench, | not °one ^is my °peer, | but each and all are my 
political °sovereigns; and had your honor submitted my 
case to the °jury, | as was clearly your difty, | even "^then 
I I should have had just cause of °protest, | for not one of 
those men | was my °peer ; but, native or foreign born, | 
white or black, | rich or poor, | educated or ignorant, | 
awake or asleep, | sober or drunk, | each and every °man 
of them I was my political QSU°perior; | hence, in °rio sense 
^my °peer. A commoner of England, | tried before a jury 
of ° Lords, would have far less cause to complain | than 
should I, I a ° woman, | tried before a jury of °men. Even 
my °coun^l, | the Hon. Henry R. Selden, | who has argued 
my cause so ably, so earnestly, so Qun°answerably before 
your hon'or, | is my (/) political "sovereign. Precisely as 
no disfranchised person is entitled to sit upon a jiiry, | and 
no woman is entitled to the franchise, | so, | none but a 
regularly admitted ^lawyer | is allowed to practice in the 
courts, I and no ° woman ^cslu gain admission (/) ^tothe^bar 



14 HELEN POTTER'S 

— hence, jury, judge, counsel, must °all °be [ of the su°perior 
class. 

Voiced. {--) The Court must insist — the prisoner has 
been tried. | (/) according | to the (/) established | forms 
I of law. 

3/i5s A. °Yes, ojour honor, | but by forms of law | all 
madeby°wm | ""intefpfeted ^jm.Q\\^ \ {\) ° administered Jjj 
men, | in ° favor ^of °men, | and against °women; | and 
hence, | your honor's ordered verdict of '' guilty,'' | against 
a United States °citizen | ^for the ^exercise of " ° that citizen' s 
right to mte," \ simply because °that ^citizen | was a woniaii, 
and not a man. But, yesterday, | the same man-made forms 
of law, 1 declared it a crime | punishable with §1,000 fine | 
and six months' im°prisonment, | for yoii, or me, | or °any 
of us I to give a cup of cold wat^, | a crust of bread, or a 
night's shelter | to a panting fugitive as bd was tracking 
his way to (\) °Canada. 

And every man or woman, in whose veins coursed a drop 
of human sympathy, violated that wicked law, reckless of 
consequences ; and was justified in so doing. 

As then, the slaves who got their freedom had to take it 
I ov'er, I or under, | or through \ the unjust forms of law, | 
precisely so, now, | must women, \ to get °their right | to a 
voice in this government | °take it; \ I ham taken mine, | 
and ""mean to ^take it | at every "possible Qoppor°tunity. 

Voice b. ( — ) The Court orders the prisoner to sit down. 

Miss A. 1 When I was brought before your honor for 
trial, I I hoped for a broad | and liberal interpretation | of 
the Constitution | and its recent amend^ments, | that 
should declare all United States citizens, | under its protect- 
ing °£Bgis, I that should declare ( / ) equality of rights | the 
national guarantee | to °all ^persons | °born ^or °natural- 
ized I in the United States. But (\) failing to get this 
justice I failing, even, to get a trial by a jury °not of my 



IMPERSONATIONS. 15 

peers | I ask no "leniency \ at your hands | but I Qde°mand 

I the °full I rigors | of the ^aw. {SiL'X 

Voice ^. ( — ) The Court orders the prisoner to stand 
up. [Rise.] 

The sentence of the Court is | that you pay a fine of one 
hundred dollars | and the costs | of the prosecution. 

Miss A. (s <; ) o^ay it please your honor, | all I possess | 
is a §10,000 debt, \ incurred by publishing my paper | ^^The 
Revolution''' \ four years ago, the sole object of which | was 
to educate °all ^women | to do precisely as °I ^have done, 

I ^re^bel | against your man-made, | unjust, | unconstitu- 
tional I forms of la^, | that^aa;, \ flne, | imprison | and °hang 
^women, | while they deny them the right | of representa- 
tion in the ^government ; | and I shall work on | with °might 
and ^main | to pay every "dollar [ of that °hon*est °debt, | 
but, qSO help me Heaven, | I'll never pay a °dime | of this 
unjust "penalty. And I shall earnestly and persistently 
oCon°tinue j to urge °all ^Avomen | ^to the "practical (\) 
recognition of the old revolutionary °maxim, | that " Resist- 
ance to tyranny \ is (\) obedience \ to God.^' [Exit.] 



Miss Susan B. Anthony, the well-known advocate of woman's suf- 
frag-e, was born in 1820. She is a trifle above medium heig-ht and 
weight, is well-proportioned and comely. Upright and straight-for- 
ward in mind and spirit, if she thought a thing wrong no power on 
earth could make her accept it or compromise with it ; and her bear- 
ing obtains somewhat of the same directness ; hence, she is often 
called angular. Nevertheless, her nature is gracefully unselfish, 
sympathetic and merciful ; and no one could be more sensitive to un- 
just personal criticism than this devoted champion of womanhood. 
Her friends realize how her timidity is overruled by duty, and have 
often seen her stand blushing and shrinking in the ante-room when 
about to appear before an audience. In fact, she represents the most 
admirable qualities of both man and woman, viz. : Strength, courage, 
tenderness, fidelity. There is a prevailing idea among people who 
have no acquaintance with Miss Anthony, that she is hard and un- 
womanly, with little claim to personal attraction. This is an errone- 
ous notion obtained through efforts at raillery and derision of the 
cause she advocates. Pen and pencil caricatures of this noble cham- 
pion of woman's rights were formerly industriously circulated to dis- 



16 HELEN POTTERS 

may the weak and amuse the crowd ; but the exponent of *' equal 
rig-hts " has lived to see an unpopular subject command the respect- 
ful thought of the world's great and gifted ones. 

Miss Anthony lately celebrated her seventieth birthday, and was 
never clearer, never keener, never more eloquent than to-day ; the 
same hopeful, generous, great nature that she was twenty years ago. 
And she has shown such absolute and continued devotion to the cause 
she espoused while yet in her youth, as to cause every true and 
thoughtful woman's heart to throb with gratitude and love. 

Costume and Rendition. — A good dark silk or wool walking dress 
with a rich plain bonnet to match ; point lace at the throat and wrists ; 
a shawl or wrap over the left arm and a roll of paper in the hand ; 
dark brown hair combed smoothly down over the sides of the face, 
covering the tops of the ears ; gold spectacles or eye-glasses. 

Two voices are required for this speech ; one for Miss Anthony, 
another for Judge Hunt. The former rather sharp (ft), the latter 
flat (b). Keep the position and appearance of Miss Anthony 
throughout the entire speech, and disguise your voice when speaking 
for the Judge, so as to make it appear to proceed from some other 
quarter. This is important. Take short steps upon entering and re- 
tiring from the platform. Throw the wrap or shawl over the chair- 
back and sit down, but never lean back. Intense natures like hers 
sit forward. Make few gestures, and those of the emphatic sort only, 
and leave the platform the moment you are done speaking. If re- 
called enter quickly, bow abruptly and retire. 



THE TRAMP'S SOLILOQDY. 

Beside a straw-stack sat a tramp, 

A jolly tramp and wise, 
Who, while he patched his tattered coat, 

Did thus soliloquize : 
" It seems sew sad that my lone life 

Doth ever downward tend, 
And rags me into wretchedness ; 

But still I'm on the mend. 
'' And when I needle little cash 

I make no loud laments, 
But by a straw-stack sit me down 

And gather in my rents." 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 



17 



AMERICAN ART 



A STUDY OF MRS. JULIA WARD HOWE. 



Note. — Text taken fi-om the N. Y, Herald's report of the first 
""Woman's Congress," at the Union Leag-ue Club Hall, New York, 
in 1863. 




^THINK, I (- -) °when American art | is held 
up I to satire | and °conQdem°nation, || ^it is 
°well, I oarso, I to give it °diie ^credit | °for 
what it has ^done. ( — ) Sir Benjamin West, 
I ^and Bradford, || ^are °now | °in ^England. 
^In °Rome, | ^there are °no German ^or It^al^- 
ian (/) ^studi^es | ^as "prominent | ^as °those 
I °of QA°meriQcan || ( — ) ^men | ^and women. 
QDo°mestic(/)oarchitecture | ^has °made | great °prog- 
ress I ^here. o*^^^ °mass | ^of QA°meriQcan "people | ^have 
"bet^ter ^dweirings | ^than °any "ot^her "people | ^in the 
world. qAs I "passed | "through | QVen"ice, | ^the "cit^y 
^jOf Qpala"ces, || ^I "longed for the (\) "scrubbing-brush, || 
qSO "great | "was the ofilth. ( — ) "Russel Grurney | said to 
me I Qrecent"ly, || that there were "no | "dwell^ings || ^at 
"Eng^lish (/) Qwatering-"places, II (- -) "equal j "to the 
Qmag"nifiQcent | ^villas || "at | ^Newport. ( — ) "Let us, j 
then, I stand by ^A"meri^can "art | "and | ^artists. 




18 HELEN POTTEKS 



BATTLE-HYMU OF THE REPUBLIC 



BY JULIA WARD HOWE. 



Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord ; 
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath 

are stored ; 
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift 

sword ; 

His truth is marching on. 

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling 

camps, 
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and 

damps ; 
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring 

lamps ; 

His day is marching on. 

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel : 
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace 

shall deal ; 
Let the hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, 

Since God is marching on." 

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call 
retreat ; 

•He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment- 
seat : 

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him ! be jubilant my feet ! 

Our Grod is marching on. 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, 
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me ; 
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free. 

While God is marching on. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 19 

Mrs. Julia Waud Howe, of Boston, is a representative New Eng-- 
land woman ; a cultured and accomplished society leader ; a reformei- 
and a poet. She was born in New York, May 27, 1819. She is tall 
and erect, stately and dignified ; with a repose born of conscious 
superiority. When addressing- an audience she seldom changes her 
position or expression. Her hair is light and complexion pale. 

Costume and Rendition. — A plane walking--dress of dark, rich ma- 
terial; old thread-lace wherever available — at throat, wrists, and 
comprising the head-dress, or ornamental portion of the hat. 

Raise the eyebrows ; cross the hands at or near the girdle ; elevate 
the shoulders, and bring the elbows close to the sides ; speak in a 
high key, with close teeth, and you have the salient points of this 
most distinguished American. 



MY OWN HATIYE LAND. 



I've roved over mountain, IVe crosvsed over flood ; 

I've traversed the wave-rolling sand ; 
Though the fields were as green, and the moon shone as 
bright, 
Yet it was not my own native land. 

No, no, no, no, no, no. No, no, iio, no, no, no. 
Though the fields were as green, and the moon shone as 
bright. 
Yet it was not my own native land. 

The right hand of friendship how oft I have grasped, 
And bright eyes have smiled and looked bland. 

Yet happier far were the hours that I passed 
In the West — in my own native land. 

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, 
yes, yes. 
Yet happier far were the hours that I passed 
In the West — in my own native land. 

Then hail, dear Columbia, the land that we love. 

Where flourishes Liberty's tree ; 
The birth-place of Freedom, our own native home, 
'Tis the land, 'tis the land of the free ! 

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, 
yes, yes. 
The birth-place of freedom, our owni native home, 
'Tis the land, 'tis the land of the free ! 



20 HELEN FOTTEKS 



THE TRIAL OF QDEEK KATHARINE, 

PART FIRST. 



From •* King Henry VIII." — Shakespeare. 



A STUDY OF MISS CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. 



Argument. — History informs us that Henry VIII., of England, bad 
six wives, live of whom he successively caused to be put away or 
executed. His first wife, Katharine of Arag-on, held her place some 
twenty years ; but was put away to make room for Anne Boleyn, 
who succeeded her as Queen. The King- petitioned the Pope to set 
aside the marriag-e as illegal ; hence the famous plea set forth by 
the Queen, showing their marriage to .have been well advised and 
legal. 



Act II. Scene IV. — A Hall in Blackfriai-s. 

Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you, do me right | and justice ; 

(\) And to bestow your (\) °pity on me, | for 

I am a most poor woman, and a °stranger, 

Born (\) °out of your dominions; having here | 

No judge indifferent, | nor no more Qassurailce | 

Of equal friendship | and proceeding. Alas, sir, [rise] 

In what I have I offended you ? | what cause | 

Hath my behavior | °given to your displeasure, | 

That thus you should proceed to put me^ff, 

And take your good grace from me ? (\) °Heaven witness, 

I have been to you a true | and humble wife, | 

At all times | to your will | conformable. 

Sir, I call to mind | 
That I have been your wife, | in °this ^obedience, | 
Upward of twenty years, | and have been blest ( ' ) 
With many children by you. If, in the course 

( ' ) Press your hand to j'ouv breast, and l)ow the head somewhat, lowetliig 
the voice at the last phrase, '• with many children by you." 




HELEN POTTER AS QUEEN KATHARINE. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 21 

And process of this time, | you can rejjoi^t, | 

And °prove it too, | against mine honor aught, | 

My bond to wedlock, | or my love and duty, | 

Against your sacred person, | in God's name, | 

Turn me aw-ay ; | and let the foul'st contempt | 

Shut °door upon me, | and so | give me up | 

To the sharpest | kind | of justice. | Please you, sir, 

The kiiig, your father, | was reputed | for 

A prince most prudent, | of an "excellent | 

And "un^match'd °wit and "judgment : | Ferdinand, 

(\)°My ^father, | King of Spain (^), was reckon'd one 

The "wisest prince, | that there had reign'd | by many 

A year before^ | It is not to be question'd | 

That they had gather'd a "wise council to them | 

Of every "realm, | that did de°bate this business, | 

Who deem'd our marriage lawful. Wherefore I 

Beseech you, sir, | to spare me, | till I may 

Be by my friends in "Spain advis'd; whose counsel | 

I will "im^plore ; ^if "not | i' the name of GoH, | 

Your pleasure | be fulfill' d ! 

Cam. W&t Yoice.W She's going away. 

King. [2d Voice,X] Call her again. 

Clerk. [3d Voice,^] Katharine, Queen of England, come 

into the court. 
Guil. [4:th Voice,\\] Madam, you are called back. 
Queen. What need you ^note "it ? 'Pray you, | keep your 

way: 
When "you are called, | return. (^) 

{ 2 ) Attain to full height, make an outward gesture at " Spain," bring the hand 
to the zenith on " wisest," then across you to the left shoulder, as if to say, 
" respect my father and me ; " then assume the argumentative to, " It is not to 
be questioned," etc.; the supplicating to " implore," and proudly carry your- 
self to the end of the scene. 

( 3 ) As if this man Avas in your way, halt and motion him to go on ; he does 
not move ; pause as if thwarted, then turn toward the audience, brows con- 
tracted, and eves upward (not the face), and in a vexed manner add : "Now, 
the Lord help,'" etc. 

(t) Ordinary voice. 

(t) Heavy, commanding voice. 

(IT) Monotonous, sonorous, far-off voice of a crier. 

(11) Servile, yet peremptory voice. 



22 HELEN POTTER'S 

[Loud] °Now the Lord help, | 
They vex me | past my °patieiice! [louder] °°Pray you, | 

pass on. 
I will °not otarry; [slowly] no, | nor ever | more, | 
Upon °this ^business, | my appearance malEe | [haughtily] 
In (\) °°any of their courts. [Exit with the right arm up- 
lifted, in indignation and defiance.] 



Imaginary Scene and Characters. — In the foregoing- impersona- 
tion, imagine the court convened, the King on his throne right, the 
judges seated in the rear. You will enter left, and with measured 
steps approach the dignitaries, facing the rear of the stage. Bow in 
courtly fashion three or four times, as if bowing to real persons, ad- 
vancing a step between the bows. You are now well to the rear of the 
scene, and have an opportunity to turn and face the audience ; now, 
with outstretched hand, approach the King. 

Having reached the centre of the stage (or a little in front and right 
of centre), kneel and make the appeal. After the sx^eech, turn to 
make your exit left, and, as you go, carry on the following conversa- 
tion, being careful to conceal, as much as possible, the fact that you 
are talking for them all. 



SONG. 

AUBREY DE VERE. 

When I was young, I said to borrow, 

" Come, and I will play with thee." 

He is near me now all day ; 

And at night returns to say, 

" I will come again to-morrow, 

I will come and stay with thee." 

Through the woods we walk together ; 
His soft footsteps rustle nigh me ; 
To shield an unregarded head. 
He hath built a winter shed ; 
And all night in rainy weather, 
I hear his gentle breathings by me. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 23 



KATHARINE OF ARAGON, 

PART SECOND. 



Act IV. Scene I. — A Gothic apartment in Kimbolton Caatle. 
Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick. 

Kath. °0h, ^Cromwefi, | I am | sick | (\) unto death: 
My legs, I like loaded branches, | bow (/) to the earth, | 
Willing I to leave | their burden. \_Sit$, in a large chair. '\ 
Didst thou not tell me, QCrom°well, (/)oas thou led'st me, | 
(- -) That the great child of honor, — Cardinal °Wolsey, |! 
Was dead ? \ \Nod at his supposed answer and say " ugh!''] 
Prythee, good ^Crom^xveTl, | tell me | (\) how he died? 
If weTl, I (- -) he stepped before me, | °happily, | 
(\) °For my example. [Nod and change expressiori as if 

hearing a story.] 
(- -) After my death, | I wish no other herald, | 
No °other "speaker | of my °living ^ actions, 
To keep mine °honor from (/) ^corruption, | 
But such an °honest ^chronicler | ^as Cromwell ; 
Whom I °most hated | "living, | thou hast (\) °made me, 
With thy ( / ) ^religious "truth | ^and modesfy, 
Now I in his ashes | "honor : | "Peace be ^with him ! 

[to the maid] 
"Patience, | be near me still. "Good QCrom"w^eri, 
(- -) Cause the musicians | play me that "sad ^note | 
(/) I named | (\) my knell, | whilst I sit meditating | 
On that Qce"lestial (/) ^harmony | (\) I go to. 

[Coinpose yourself as for sleep, and, if conmnisnt, have soft 

music from unseen musicians. Awake in tremoi\ and, 

looking up front and extending one or both hands, cry out 

in the words of the text.] 



24 HELEN POTTER'S 

Kath. "Spirits of peace, where °are ye ? are ye all gone | 
And leave me here | in wretchedness | behind ye ? 

[Imaginary attendants come and kneel near you ; look down 
and shrink from them, saying :] 
It is not (\) °you I call for: 
Saw ye none enter | since I slept ? 
No ! Saw you not, (\) even now, | a blessed troop 
Invite me to a banquet, | whose bright faces 
Cast "thou^sand °beams (/) upon me, | like the sun ? 
They promised me | °eteriial | Qhappine"ss ; || 
(/) And brought me "garlands, | Cromw^ell, | which I feel | 
I am °not ^worthy yet | to wear; | I shall, 1 
(\) Assuredly. 

[Imagine Guilford speaks to you, and say his words for him 
under cover of a handkerchief.^ 
Gull. (- -) An't like your grace — [Start and look left.] 
Kath. (\) You are a °°saucy "fellow; | 
(\) "Deserve we | no more | reverend ? 

[Under cover, speak for Guilford again.] 
Guil. (- -) I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon ; 
There is a gentleman sent from the Kiilg | to see you. 

[Turn your eyes, hut not the head, in the direction of Guilford, 
and stare with open mouth some seconds, then slowly turn 
them in the opposite direction, put out your hand in a little 
motion of concession toward Cromwell and speak slowly.] 

Kath. ( ) Admit him entrance, Cromwell ; ^but "this 

fellow I ^let me (\) "ne'er see again. [Nervously close your 
robes about you as though much annoyed, and settle hack into 
your chair. Exit Guilford and Cromwell. Re-enter Crom- 
well with Capucius.] 

Kath. If my sight fail not, || [lean foo'ward shading the 
eyes with the right hand] 

You should be lord ambassador | from the emperor, || 
My royal nephew, \ {/) and your name | ^Ca°pucias. 

Voice. (- -) The same, madam ! [Settle back wearily.] 



IMPERSONATIONS, 25 

Kath, (.— ) °0h, my lord, 
The times | and titles now | are altered "strangely 
^Withme, | since first | you knew me. But, (/) I pray you, 
(/)What is your "pleasure | ^with me ? | 

Voice. ( — ) °The King sends you his princely commen- 
dations, I 
And heartily entreats you | take good comfort. 

Kath, [feebly], °0h, my good lord | (\) "that comfort 
"comes "too | ^late ! | 

'Tis like a pardon | "af^ter | (\) "execution; 
That gentle physic | given in time, | (\) "had cured me; 
^But "now I ^I'm past all "comforts ^here, | "but ^prayers. 
qHow "does I ^his highness? 

Voice. "Well! _. 

Kath. qSo may he "ever | ^do ! and "ever ^flourish 
Q^When I I shall dwell | with worms. 
[p.] Patience, is that letter 
I caused you to write | yet sent away ? 

[Take a large envelope, addressed and sealed with red sealing- 
wax, from a secret pocket, and, as if just handed to you, 
hold it forth.] 
Kath. Siff I I most humbly pray you | to deliver 
This I to my lord, | the King. 
In which | I have QCom"mended | to his Qgood"ness 
The model | of our chaste loves, | his young daughter ; 
[Press a large, soft handkerchief to your eyes and sob ; after 
a moment, go on with the text, still sobbing with covered face.] 
"Beseeching him | to give her | "virtuous "breeding : | 
^And a "little (/j^to love her | for her (\) "mother's sake | 

that loved him, | 
(\)"Heaven knows | "how ^dearly. || (--)°My next poor 

petition | 
Is, I that his noble grace | would have "some opify | 
Upon my wretched women, | that so long 
Have followed | "both (/) ^mj fortunTs | "faithfully; 



26 HELEN POTTER'S 

The last | is for my ''men ; °they | are the ^poorest, 
^But ^poverty \ could never | draw them | °from ^me ; 
(/) °And good, ^my °lord, | \lean forward as with effort] 
°By that you °°love | ^the °dearest, | (\) ^in this world, | 
(/) As you wish Christian °peace | ^to(\)°souls departed, | 
°Stand I these poor ( \ ) °people's friend, | and °urge ^the 

°Kifig I _ 

To do me | this °la'st | ^right. | 
Voiee. I will. [Sink hack exhausted.] 

Kath. I (\) °thank you, | ^honest lord. 1| (- -) Remember me 
In all ^humility | unto his highness ; 
( — ) °Say, I his long trouble | now, | is passing | 
°Out I (\) °of this ^world; | tell him | in °death | (\) °I 

blessed him, 

(--) For so — I will. I! {^-^) (--) °Mine eyes grow dim! 

Farewell, | 
My lord. °Fare3well ! [pause] 
^Farewell. || °Patience, °do ^not "weep. || 

[Put out the hand, as if upon the head of some one kneeling 

before you, then settle back as before.] 
(_ _) °When I am dead, || 

°Let me be used || ^with °°honor: || (^--^) strew me over 
(--) With maiden flo Wei's, [ that all the °°world | ^may 

""know I 
^I was a °chaste ^wife | ^unto my grave ! || [pause] 
Altho' (\) °anqueened, || inter me || — °like ^a queen, | 
(- -) And daughter 1 [try to rise] to a (asp.) °°Kiug ! 

[ With great effort, as if feeble, grasp the arms of the chair, 

and try to rise; drop back limp; quiver or jerk tioice; let 

the head fall to one side and breathe far apart, until the 

curtain closes upon you.] 



Charlotte Saunders Cushman was born in Boston, Mass., July 23, 
1816 ; and died there in February, 1876. She was buried in Mount 
Auburn cemetery, near Boston. Miss Cushman came from staunch 



IMPERSONATIONS. 27 

old Puritan stock. She inherited strength of character from no less 
a foimtainhead than that of one of those citizens, who, fleeing- from 
persecution two centuries ago, came to our shores for freedom to 
worship God. No luxury veiled in childhood the hardships of matu- 
rity, it was constant self-denial, struggle, and disappointment ; but 
as the eagle, with eye aloft, mounts heavenward, so did this great 
and zealous servant of Time tix her gaze upon the heights, and search 
diligently for the noblest and best in art ; and now her attainments 
stand forth a monument to her patience and pei-severance. No woman 
of less courage and fortitude of soul, could have overcome such 
mighty obstacles as did this one. Yet some of hei- greatest achieve- 
ments are unrecorded, and can never be known to us. She had a 
voice for song, and it was ruined by her teachei's ; she was homely, 
and had to compete with beauty ; she was pooi", and without influence 
of the great ; and, therefore, could not choose as to time, place, or 
work. Notwithstanding all this, she towered above all her competi- 
tors, and stood alone in the field of histrionic art in two continents. 
Her name and fame will ever stand recorded with those of the greatest 
artists of the age in which she lived. For years she continued her 
work while suffering much physical pain of which the world knew 
nothing. Brave, cheerful, hopeful, even when the hand of death was 
upon her, this heroic and undaunted soul passed out froiu her earth- 
life. 

In personal appearance. Miss Cushman was considerably above the 
medium size and weight ; tall and majestic, she moved with stately 
grace. Her countenance was noble, and beamed with intelligence ; 
while her prominent chin denoted a strength and firmness of character, 
not to be swayed nor trifled with. She was well fitted by nature, as 
well as by study, to assume the roles which made her famous. Kath- 
arine of Aragon, Lady Macbeth, Meg Merrilies, Hamlet and Cardinal 
Wolsey were among her greatest achievements. She played for the 
last time in Boston, May 15, 1875, although she afterward gave public 
readings in some of our large cities. 

CosTDME. For Part First. — (Copied from Miss Cushman's imper- 
sonation of Queen Katlierine.) A crimson velvet robe (demi-train), and 
cloak with ermine border (full train); a ci'own and jeweled girdle with 
pendant to the feet ; a necklace of pearls ; a long white lace scai-f over 
the back-head, and fastened each side with gold pins, the ends falling 
back over the crimson cloak. Hair a la pompadour. 

For Part Second. — A loose white gown of soft material and large 
flowing sleeves ; a rich shawl trailing from the shoulders in full ex- 
panse ; the face bandaged in white, as if to hold up the chin ; a large, 
soft white cloth, like the robe, across the forehead (as a Sister of 
Charity) and falling about the shoulders ; a large soft handkerchief 
and a large, sealed envelope or letter in a pocket handy for use. 
A large arm-chair should be placed near the centre of the stage, close 
by a curtain or screen, so that you can take the chair with as few 
visible steps as possible ; for, being ill and feeble, you could not take 
many steps alone ; and, again, being well back upon the stage, the 
make-up and ensenible will be naore effective, 



28 HELEN POTTERS 



WOISEY'S SOLILOPY. 



From "King Henry VIII." — ShakEvSpearb. 



A STUDY OP MR. GEORGE VANDENHOFF. 



Argument. — Cardinal Wolsey, Prime Minister of England in the reign 
of King Henry VIII., rose to the highest point of fame and power, 
only to suffer the King's displeasure, and end in humiliation and 
disgrace. Shakespeare, in his historical play, admirably portrays 
the Cardinal's character, his towering ambition, cunning, diplo- 
macy, and fall. 



Act III. Scene II. 

[Full asp.] °¥siYe^viG\l, °a long farewell, | (\) to all my 

greatness ! 
This I is the state | °of ^man ; ^to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope, °to-morrow I ^blossoms, \ 
And ( * ) bears his blushing honors °thick | ^upon him ; 
The third day | comes a °frost, | a ^Jiilling \ frost; | C) 
(--) And I (<1) when he thinks, | ogood, easy man! °full 

surely | 
His greatness is ^a ^ripening | (') °nips | his root 
^And °then | he falls (') || „as /da (°) ^I have ventured, 
( — ) Like little wanton boys | that swim on bladders, | 
°These many summers | in a sea of glory ; 
But C) °far beyond | my depth: (<) (^ My high-blown 

pride 

1 ) Horizontal front, R. H. P. 

2 ) Hands to chest as if cold. 

3 ) R. H. vertical. 

* ) Both hands up. 

* ) Hands down and back to audience, 
« ) Point with index finger. 
7 ) Go up the scale to " pride," 



IMPERSONATIONS. 2^ 

At length ""Iroke \ ^un^der °me : and now has left me, | 
We^y, and °oid °with ^ser^vice, | to the mercy 
Of a ^rude °stream | (®) °that must forever | °hide me. 
(- -) °Vain pomp and glory of this world, | (\) °I hate ye ! | 
I (') feel my heart | °new ^opened: | °0h, how wretched 
qIs that °poor °man | that hangs on °princes' | favors; | 
(/) There is, | betwixt that smile we would ( / )q aspire to^ | 
(\)°That sweet aspect of princes, | (/) ^and our ruin, j 
(/) ^More pangs and °fears | (/) ^than wars or 

('") °°wom"eh I ha~ve; 
°A^d I when he ^falls || ^he ^falls like | °Lucifer, 
( \ ) °°Never I °to hope I o.again:. (-)(]:) 

[Enter Cromwell.] 
("') °Why, how now || (^^) °Crom^\Vell ! [hold the " 1."] 

Cram. [Disguised voice.] I have no power to speak, sir. 

Wol. ^What, I amazed | 
^At my °misQfort°unes ? °Can thy spirit wonder, 
(- -) °A great man should Qde°cline ? °Nay, an' "y'ou 

°°weep, I 
^I'm fallen | Qin°deed. 

Crom. [Disg. voice.] (- -) How does your grace ? 

Wol. ,Wh^, I °^^11; I _ 

(\) °Never so truly | °happy, | (--) ^my good Cromwell. 
(\) I know myself now ; ( — ) and I feel within me | 
( — ) A peace | above all °earthly | ^dignities. | 
A still I and quiet | ^conscience. 
°The king has ^cured me — 

(- -) qI humbly thank his grace; | and | from these 
shoulders | 

( 8 ) step back, showing fear. 
( * ) Hand on the heart. 

(10) B. H. up — the climax offeree is on the word "women." 
( »* ) Both hands spread; covers head and face with robe; slaps his head ; falls 
upon the chair and table, limp and overcome. 
( " ) Raises his head. 

( i* ) Turns his eyes to Cromwell and exclaims in surprise. 
(+) For a monologue, continue from the words : " I did not think to shed a 
tear," etc., Page 31. For a reading, include the dialogue. 



m HELEN EOTTER'S 

These °ruined °pillars, | ( — ) out of his pity, \ [/ to the ;] 

taken 
A load I would sink a °°navy; ^too much ^Jionoi\ 
°0h, 'tis a burden, [rises] ^Cromwell, | °'tis a burden | 
"Too^heavy | (- -)ofor a man that hopes | for heamn! 

Cfom. [Disg. wioe] (- -) I'm glad your grace has made 
that right use of it. 

WoL qI °hope qI °have ; (- -) °rm able now, | ^methinks, 
( — ) Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, | 

( ) To endure more miseries, | and greater ^faf, || 

(/)QThan my weak-hearted ('') enemies, | °dare offer. 
(\) ('') °What news abr'Sad ? 

Crom. [Disg. voice] ( — ) The heaviest, and the worst, | 
Is your displeasure with the King. 

Wol °God blS's him ! 

Crom. [Disg. wice.] ( — ) The next is, | that Sir Thomas 
Moore | is chosen Lord Chancellor, | in your place. 

Wol. [q. asp.] (\) °That's somewhat | °sudden ; [Eges 
wide open;] 
JBiit he's a learned man. °May he continue 
Long in his highness' favor, and do justice 
For truth's sake, and his conscicn^ ; | ^that his bones 
(When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings) 
May have a tomb of orphan's tears | °wept ^on °them ! 
('«) °What ^more. 

Crom. [Disg. xolce.] ( — ) That, Cranmer is returned with 
welcome, | 
Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. | 

Wol. (\) °°That's ^news | ^in^deed ! [/Surprise and pain.] 

Crom. [Disg. voice.] ( — ) Last, | that the Lady Anne, | 
Whom the King hath in secrecy long married, | 
This day was viewed in open | as the queeii, 



(14) Waves R. H. 
(16) I/ightly spoken. 
(18) Light and simple. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 31 

G-oing to chapel ; and the voice is now | 
Only about | her coronation. 

'Wot. {'') (\) °There was the weight | that pulled me 
dowii, I Crom\vell ! 

All my glories 
In that °one Qwoman | (--) ^I have lost | forevei' : || 
(- -) qNo sun shall ever usher forth mine honors, || 
Or gild again | the noble troops | that waited | 
Upon my smiles. || Gofget thee /row me, | Cromwell; | 
^I am a poor, °lallen oman, | Qun°worthy now | 
(--) To be thy lord and mastei*. (g.) ^Seek the King; 
( — ) I have told him 

What, I and how ( \) "^true thou art ; he will ad°vance ^thee ; 
°Some little memory of me | will stir hiiST, | 
q(I know his noble nature,) °not to let 
°Thy ^hopeful service | ^perish °too : (\) °go, Cromwell. 

Croon. [Disg. voice.] Oh, my lord, | 
(\) Must I, then, leave you? °Must I needs forego 
So good, so noble, and so true a master ? 
[Crying.] Bear witness, | all that have not hearts of iron, | 
With what a °sorrow | ^Cromwell | leaves his lord. 
The King | shall have my ^service, | but my prayers | 
Forever and forever | shall be yours. [Kneels.] 
[Continue here the monologue.] 

Wol. C')( — ) I did not think to shed a tear | 
In all I my miseries ; but thou hast (\) °forced me. 
Out of my honest °truth [trem.]y ('®) ^to play | the 

woman. || (^°) 
(--) Let's dry our eyes : ('') and thus far [sits] °hear me, 

^Cromwell, 
[Cromwell rises.] And — (--) when I am forgotten \\{/) °as 
I shall be, I 



( IT ) R. H. ascending ; open fins'ers and shaking the hand. 

( 1" ) Hands clasped on the bosom. 

( 19 ) Pats Cromwell on the back. 

( ^^ ) Weeps and drops his head on Cromwell's head. 



32 HELEN POTTERS 

-< ■< -< 

( — ) oAiid sleep in dull, | cold | marble || °where no mention 

Of me more | must ^be °hear3. |{ „say | (\) °I taught thee. | 
^Say (") °Wolsey — | that once trod the ways of glory, (") 
(- -) And sounded all the depths | ^and °shoB;ls ^of °horior — 
Found {\)°thee a way, | ^out of °his ^wfeck, (\) °to rise m ; 
A siire (/)Qand safe one, | ^though thy master || missed it. 
Mark but °'my ^fall, | and that | that ( \ ) °fuined me. [rises] 
°Cromwell, I charge thee | fling away | ambition; (^*) 
(/) By that sin | fell the °angels; how can °manf ^then, | 
The °image ^of his Maker, | ^hope to win by't ? 
( / ) ^Love thyself | °last ; | ( — ) cherish those hearts | that 

°hate thee ; 
( — ) Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, | 
(--) qTo silence | envious | °tongues. {/) Be just (") ^and 

( \ ) °fear not. 
(/')Let all the ends thou aim'st at, | be thy "country's, 
^Thy GoS's D <,and °tr"5th's; °then, (/),if thou fall'st, | 

{/)Jd Cromwell, | 
^^Thou fallest | a °blessed ^martyr. | (") ^Lead me in; 
(--) ^There | take an inventory || of all \ I ham, \ [shoi^t and 

half asp.] 
To the last | penny; (^'') °His \ the King's; | ^my °robe, | 
And my | ^in^tegrity | to Heaven, | ( -" ) is all | 
I dare | °now | (\) call my omi. \ C) °0h, °Cromwell, 

^Cromwell, 
(/)^Had I but served °my^God, | , with (\) "half the z^l | 
(/) J. served | ^my °Kiiig, || °he | (--) ^ would not in mine 

°a-ge II 
^Have left me | "naked || (- -) ^to mine enemies 1 || ( " ) 

( 21 ) Handkerchief to the eyes ] to end weeping. 

( 22 ) R. H. ascending. 
( 23 ) R. H. v. 

( 24 ) R. H. aloft. 
( 26 ) R. H. v. 
(28) R. H. V. 

{ 27 ) Shakes Cromwell's hand and looks anxious, staggers, and speaka as if 
short of breath. 
( 28 ) High asp. voice, as in pain. 
(29 ) Hands applied to the chin. 
( 80 ) Turns to go, but turns back again. 
(81 ) Totters off with both arms up in intense agony of mind. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 33 

Mr. George Vandenhoff, actor, son of the renowned Engliah trage- 
dian, was born in England, February 18, 1820 ; made his first appear- 
ance at Covent Garden Theatre, London, October 14, 1839 ; came to 
this country in 1842, and retired from the stage November, 1856. He 
died at Bennington, Vermont, August 10, 1884. He was admitted to 
the bar in 1858, and practised law in New York, occasionally appear- 
ing as a professional reader. He was a man of culture and educa- 
tion, having won five prize medals for scholarship, and was an authority 
on matters of English pronunciation. In the technique of elocution 
he was most superior ; clear, crisp, intellectual ; but he manifested 
little feeling in his artistic performances, and hence was not a sympa- 
thetic actor or reader. 

He was slightly above the medium height and weight, finely pro- 
portioned and bore himself with ease and dignity. 

This study was made during Miss Cushman's last engagement in 
New York, when Mr. Vandenhoff played Wolsey to her Queen Kath- 
arine, in the production of " King Henry VIII." 

Costume. — See Cardinal Richelieu's second dress, in "A Study 
of Edwin Booth," page 67. 

Enter slowly, with measured tread, and begin the soliloquy with- 
out delay, taking no notice of the audience unless compelled to do so. 



THE AMERICAN FEAST, 



BEFORE THE THANKSGIVING DINNER. 

S^PPy> happy man ! 
Tripping gayly 'long the street, 
Loaded down with tidbits sweet, 
Loaded down w^ith turkey fat, 
Delicacies and all that — 

Happy, happy man ! 

AFTER THE THANKSGIVING DINNER. 

Aching, aching man! 
Skulking sadly 'long the street. 
Loaded down with tidbits sweet. 
With stuffed turkey, rich and fat, 
Delicacies and all that — 

Aching, aching man ! 



84 



MELEN EOTTERS 



NYDIA, THE BLIND GIRL OF POMPEII 



As adapted from *• The Last Days of Pompeii," and rendered by 
Miss Potter more than six hundred times. 

Argument. — Nydia was born in Thessaly, of g-ood family. She 
afterwai'd became a slave. Her master, Glaucns, a young- and 
wealthy Athenian, boug-ht her to save her from ciuel treatment, and 
was the object of her g-rateful adoration ever after. At this time, 
she was a prisoner in the palace of Arbaces, and Glaucus, falsely 
accused of murder, was condemned to meet the lions in the arena, in 
deadly combat. It was said, if a man was innocent, the beasts would 
not touch him, but if guilty, they would tear him in pieces. When 
the city was inundated with burning- lava, Nydia, accustomed to 
walk in darkness, was able to lead her friends forth in safety, and to 
reach the sea. 



Scene, Pompeii. The Palace of Arbaces, a Wealthy Eg-yptian. 
Sozia on Guard and Nydia a Prisoner. 



HIDE me not | (/) kind Sozia, I cannot 
endure | to remain so long | ^a°lone. 
The solitude | appalls me. Come sit 
with me, I pray, a little while. Fear 
not that I should attempt to (/) ^es- 
cape; | (\) °place thy seat before the 
door ; (- -) I will not stir from this 
spot. I8lghing.'\ °Alas, (\) °why am 
I imprisoned here ? I know not. 
[Finding a high dool and sitting.^ (\)What is the hour? 
°Noon, „you say? What hast thou heard of the Athe- 
nian, I Glaucus ? II [Listens, then, with surprise, repeats what 
she has heard.] (asp.) °He's charged with shedding 
priestly blood ! [rises quickly and drops all her flowers.] 
(\)°The gods forbid! ^'Tis °false, ^'tis °°false, J^ say ! 
(h ««P-) (/") Arbaces \ °saw the deed? «) Arbaces, the 




IMPERSONATIONS. 35 

Egyptian ? [CZasps herr hands in agony.'] ^Arbaces °hates 
^the priest; Jiates °Glaucus | °too. (/.) °Come Truth | 
^and triumph o'er thy foes ! [Exit Sozia.'] 

(\)°What shrieks are those I hear; ^so ^neaj', | Qand yet 
so far ! (J asp.) It seems this way, [feels her way to the wall 
and listens'] here! || ah— yes! [Calls.'] ^°Who is it in dis- 
tress ? °°Who cries aloud ? [Listens again.] (.^ asp.) °Cal- 
emus, I the priest ? || °What, you saw QAr°baces | °strike 
the blow ! ^Then °you \ ^can prove dear Griaucus °innocent. 
°But why are you here ? [Aside.] ^Ah, me ! If free to speak, 
he could save my master ! [Calls agai7i.] "Listen ! If you 
were free, | would you give testimony against Arbac'es, | 
the rich and powerful Arbaces? Would you the °truth 
proclaim? Would you save the Athenian? (\)Your 
priestly word | °can ^save °him. If I procure you liberty, | 
you will not play me false ? °No, ^no ! ^I will not doubt 
you ; I you could not be so cruel ! °Remember, | Calemus, | 
^you have (\) ° promised \ [Turns and feels her way along 
quicJily.] 

qHow can I release the priest ; how best | the truth make 
known ; how gain the praetor's ear; [wrings her hands] °how 
escape | (\) this dreary place ? [Stops to reflect, then bright- 
ens up as she takes her hrac.elels off.] °Ah, ^these ""gems 
(/) ^IVe worn so long, | ^may (\) °clear the way ! [Kisses 
them.] °Sweet ^gems, ('^^) I loved you (\) °more than 
freedom | ^till I loved, || ^and °since {/) ^ love, ^I love ye 
°more, || [^presses them to her bosom] Jot (\)°ye shall melt 
my bonds, | (/) and give me | "freedom ! | (--) ^I was not 

I "born a ^slave ! no, [ no ! | My birth | is equal °his. \\ ^Why 
then I "freedom (q.) ^would give me power to save, \ and 
the right to °love \ ^dear Glaucus. [Returns to the outer door 
calling aloud.] "Sozia ! ""Sozia ! (\) "Come hither, guard, 

II othou, (\) "too, art slave. {/) Wouldst thou this day be 
free? (\) "Behold these jewels on my neck and arms ; j 
(/')they'dbuy thy freedom "thrice. || ^Grive me | °onehour — 



36 HELEN POTTER'S 

I swear to straight return — \jpau8es\ ( — ) °you will not trust 
me ? (\) °Nay, then, | (\) ""thou shalt go | °with ^me, | ^keep 
me in °sight | (/) o^^^ bring me | °back ^again. °How 
could I flee from | °thee, | \in agony\ ( \) °against thy will ? 
('^^) ^I'm °blind ! {reaches both hands pleadingly^ then staggers 
hack saying^ (\) °Thou sayst me nay ? (/) ^Is there °?2o | 
Jiope ? [trembles} {^ asp.) °0h, he is going °from ^me ! ^1 
shall go °mad! °°mad! || °°Comeback! °°Comeback! °one 
(\) moment, | °°one — | ^thou wilt not refuse to take a °let- 
ter ^for °me; thy master (\) cannot | ^kill thee for °that I 
Take this tablet to one I name, | (\) all these | °are „thine ! 
{q.) Rings, bracelets | long kept to buy my freedom ; | °all, | 
°°all, ^are thine; (/) thou'rt free and °rich! || ^You °°willf 
(\) °The gods be praised ! [Kneels on one knee and writes 
upon a tablet which she takes from her bosom and places upon 
the other knee ; now rises and holds the tablet out f&r him to 
take, then suddenly and in te/rror exclaims] : 

°0h, I °thou may'st | Qde°ceive ^me ! ^Thou may'st opre- 
°tend I ( — ) ^to take this letter to °Sallust, | ^and (\) not 
fulfill thy charge ! °°Place thy right hand of faith in mine ! 
[holds out her hand] (\)°° Swear \ «) ^by the ground 
on which we stand ; by the "elements | which can give life, 
I or (\) °curse life; by °°Orcus, | „the °°all-avenging; by 
the "Olympian °°Jupiter, | the °all-°°seeii§ ; °°swear, | (g.) 
that thou wilt discharge my trust | and (- -) deliver this | 
into the hands of Sallust ! [Pauses.] JThou °vn\t\ (\) 
°The gods be thanked ! (\) °Dear Glaucus is saved ! Ah, 
yes, I °he's ^saved ! [Pauses and listens until Sozia's foot- 
steps can no longer be heard ; then anxiety is lost in soorow. She 
drops into an attitude of hopeless grief and despair.] ^And °I 
—{•^ ^a°las, °I ^am a °slave °forevermore ! (\) No more 
can hope for "freedom ; no longer (^^~) look for life, | for 
love, [weeps] || °Tears, ^tears ! || ^Wliy, °why ^should eyes 
that cannot °see, | (- -) ^have power to °we^ ? [Covers her 
face with her hands and sobs aloud.] 



IMPERSONATIONS. 37 

(ilsp.) Hark ! the lion roars | as if in fear. It is the Am- 
phitheatre, and the games are on ! {Clasps her hands.] 
°Haste, haste, good Sozia, or we may prove ^too °late ! 

(Asp.) I hear a cry — list, quick ear ! || I hear a °voice — 
[listening attitude, yet throwing the mice off.] ( — ) ^'•°The lion 
touches not the victim! The lion touches not the victim!'' 
( \ ) Aye, { / ) even the wild beasts | ^love QGlau°c'us. Again 
that cry — [voice afar] {--) " °Arbaces, \ the Egyptian, \ is the 
murderer! {--) ° Glaucus is innocent ! Sethim°°free ! °Set 
him °°free ! " 

°He's saved, he's saved ! [Falls ; then, rising on one knee, 
listens.] What sounds of woe ! What heavy breath in the 
air! Ah, the floor trembles under my feet ! [Stoops and 
puts her hand on the floor.] °No, ^'tis °I that trembles ! My 
heart is in a tumult wild ! My soul is tilled with terror ! 

[A voice from afar.] ^^The ° mountain ! the ° mountain! flee 
for your lives ! °to Jhe °sea, Jo the °°sea ! " [In affright she 
goes to the wall and fumbles for the door.] 

(Asp.) What does it mean ? °Sozia, °°Sozia ! Open the 
gate and let me out ! Unlock the door ! ah me, [listens] J. 
hear a step — °the bolt withdraws — °and I — °°Sozia — [listens] 
°alas, (^^^) he's gone ! °gone ! Oh, light of love, | be °thou 
^mine eyes | (- -) to lead me forth ! (- -) What thunder 
shakes the ground ; what ( \ ) °moaning — ^what strange 
°noises. (/) The air is thick | ^and °hot! I cannot breathe ! 
[Pulls at her throat, as if suffocating.] 

Alone I and blind, | in this strange place, | how can I 
hope to escape! [Sudden joy.] Oh, Sallust ! I hear (\) 
°Sallust's voice. The gods be thanked ! [Goes forward to 
meet him.] Oh, dear Sallust, what hath befel ! Speak ! 
[Repeats what Sallust tells her.] Vesuvius all ablaze, and 
growing dark ? The sun gone down at no'on ? Hot cin- 
ders fall in showers ? Alas, the gods are angry ! ^and 
°Glaucus, (\) °where is he ? (/) ^Canst thou tell me of 
Grlaucus, ^the QA°theniaii ? Where? (/)°Near the arch 



38 HELEN POTTER'S 

of the Foruni ? Ah, | ^then I can °find ^him ! (Asp.) 
Hark ! a °new Qcry | comes wailing | from afar — on, on, it 
comes, and oh, how sad ! (- -) It is the cry of the Chris- 
tians, on their way to the temple to worship ! [Intone in a 
disguised voice, at first softly, then more and more distinctly as 
the party approaches.] 

[Disgf. voice, chanting.] ^^The hour is come; 

The world must end ; 

Woe I to the proud ones \ who defy Him ; 

Woe \ to the wicked \ who deny Him ; 

Woe I to the wicked, \ woe ! " 

^IIow can I hope to reach his ears | amidst this tnniult. 
°Glaucns, °°Grlaucus ! Art thou in the temple ? (q.) I hear 
his voice ! He answers back my call. [Joyously.] Ah, 
here he is at last ! [Bends her head and kisses her hand, as 
if it were his, at the same time dropping upon one knee. Rises.] 
°This way, °°this way (/) to the °°sea, to the °°sea; ah, 
here, | °take my hand ! I will lead thee safely forth ! I 
know the way, trust me, | trust me ! Ah, not so fast ! 
°This way, °to the °°sea ! °to the °°sea. [Exit while saying 
the last words, one hand before feeling the way out ; or, if pre- 
ferred, the intoning may he reversed as if the parties were going 
away instead of approaching.] 

[Disg. voice, iyitoning or chanting, dim. to the close.] 

° Woe Jjo the proud ones who defy Him ; 

° Woe (- -) to the wicked who deny Him ; 

(- -) ^ Woe, I to the wicked, \ woe ! 



Costume.— A Greek dresa of white cashmere, with a Greek border, 
silk hose with toes, sole-sandals (see directions on Foot-Gear), arnilets, 
bracelets, stringrs of jiearls, and long- flaxen hair. Enter with an 
armful of flowers; a tablet and bodkin in the bosom, ready for 
use. 

In a full set stage, great additional eff'ect may be given by use of 
colored lights and distant thiinder. First, Dull red light growing 
brighter, and shifting ; second, with blue alternating j and, third, 
full red lights to the end, 



IMPERSONATIONS. 39 



THE TEN COMMANDMENTS IN WELSH.* 



Anrhydedda dy dad a'th fam ; fel yr estyner dy 

An-rl-deth'-a du dad uth vam ; vel ur es'-tln-ur du 

ddyddiaii ar y ddaear, yr hon y mae yr Arglwydd 

thuth'-i-i ar i thirc, ur hou e mae ur Ar-gloo'-ith 

dy Dduw yn ei rhoddi i ti. Na ladd. Na 

du thew un ue ruth'-e e te. Na lath. Na 

wena odineb. Na ladratta. Na ddwg gam 

wemT o'-de-ii6b. Na lu-dret'-ta. Na tlnvg gam 

dystiolaeth yn erbyn dy gymmydog. 

dis-ti-o'-litli uu er'pin du glm-me-dog'.t 

Na chwennych dy dy gymmydog. 

Na shwen'-ichj; de du gim-nie-dog'. 

Na chwennych wraig dy gymmydog. 

Na shwen'-ich rig du gim-me-dog'. 

Na'i wasanaethwr, ua'i wasanaeth-ferch, 

Na'e was-na'-thur, na'e was-nlth'-lur, 

na'i ych, na'i asyn, na dim a'r sydd 

na'e e-uch', na'e as'-in, na dim a'r seeth 

eiddo dy gymmydog. 

r tho du gim-me-dog'.t 

"^ The alternate lines, in fine print, are the pronunciation of the text, 
t g, as in go. 

+ Hold the tip of the tongue below the lower teeth and try to say each, and 
you have the c?^ of tljis word. 



40 HELEN POTTER'S 



THE LORD'S PRAYER IN WELSH, 



Ein Tad, yr hyn wyt, yn y iiefoedd, Sancteiddier 

ine Tad, ur hoon oolt, iin e ne'ferth, Sank-ta'-thu 

dy enw. Deled dy deyrnas gwneler dy ewyllys, miges 

du a'noo. Del'ed dii dire'nes nel'ur dii a-wuth'-les, me'gis 

yn y nef felly ar y ddaear hefyd. Dyro i ni heddyw 

un i nef velch'-i ar i thlre hev'-id. Ui-ru' e ne h5th'j-ou 

ein bara bennyddiol. A madden i ni ein dyledion, fel 

ine ba'ra ben-uth'yel. a math'-ii e ne ine dM§-de'-on, vel 

y maddenwn ninnau i'n dyledwyr. Ac nac arwain ni i 

e math'-e-une nin'-i ecn dMed'-wer. ak nak ar'wan ne e 

brofedigaeth : either gwared ni rhag drwg. Canys 

pruv-ed-ig'-§th: i'thur gwar'ed ne ra,g droog. Kgn'Is 

eiddot ti yw y deyrnas, a'r nerth, a'r gogoniant, yn 

ith'6t te eu u dlie'nus, a'r nerth, a'r go go ne' ant, un 

oes oesoedd. 

CIS ols'seth. 



Note.— The pronunciation of these words was obtained by the editor while 
on a visit to Wales. 

th = th as in thin. dd = eth as in seth (as a rule), 

tti = th as in this. i:=. v as in vine. 




WILLIAM PARSONS. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 41 



MICHAEL AN6EL0. 



A STUDY OF THE HON. WM. PARSONS, M. P. 




[Extract from a lecture before the ladies of " Monticello Seminary, 
Godfrey, III., 1884.] 



E are about to discuss the life and character 
of the greatest artist known to fame, Michael 
Angelo. Now, | in order to be as ^practical 
°as ^possible, | we will first define art. 
Beauty | is infinite. (/)Art is the infi- 
nite (\) °in ^the fixed and finite. Art is 
transformation of mind into (/) matter ; i (/) philosophy | 
is the transformation of (/) matter | (\) into mind. 

Now let me take you across the Atlantic | to see a little 
child ; the period, | four hundred years ago ; the place, | the 
north of Italy. This child | is playing in a stone quarry, | 
and watching the stone-cutters. It is Michael Angelo. 
He was afterward sent to school in France, but he would 
not study. He delighted only | in drawing. ^He (\) °fed 
his infant mind on Dante ; | a man who pictured, | in all 
the power of wo'rS.s, human woe and anguish, | misery and 
de'ath, | fiends and devils. Men shrank from Dante | in 
affright. They said : " There goes the man | who has been 
to the (\) regions below | and has returned." 

Michael Angelo spent his time | in the studios of difi"erent 
artists. His father remonstrated | and punished him, | but 
without avail ; and so, | at the age of fourteen, | he was 



42 HELEN POTTER'S 

bound to Grillandaji | to learn to paint. Here he made 
such rapid progress, | that even his mastei* | became jealous 
of him, I and took the first opportunity | to let him go. 

When the Medici were driven from Florence, | Michael 
Angelo went to Bologna. There he got into some difficulty 

I about a passport. You may talk of your kings and your 
emperors, but the biggest man in a small town is the mayor 
or chief magistrate ; and the smallei* the to^vn, | the bigger 
the man. But our artist found employment, | remained 
here a year, and returned to Florence. About this period 

I there Avas a great prejudice | in favor of the antique ; 
and connoisseurs | were often mistaken in their judgment, 

I purchasing modern for ancient works of art. There are 
men who are astonished at nothing | on principle; especi- 
ally if the thing is modern. Michael Angelo determined 
to teach these critics | a lesson. So he executed a sleeping 
Cupid and had it buried, with marks of age upon it pro- 
duced by chemicals. It was discovered, resurrected, re- 
ceived great praise, and was actually sold to Cardinal St. 
Giorgio, for two hundred ducats. ^ 

Da Vinci and Michael Angelo | were rivals; and as 
Michael Angelo saw th^ growing popularity of his rival, | 
in 1492, I he turned his eyes and steps to the East, | and 
went to Rome. The other | turned in the opposite direction, 
"io solo!'' (I alone!) Leonardo da Vinci, | by his various 
attainments, | was placed among the most remarkable per- 
sons I of his time. Hitherto, Michael Angelo had chiefly 
devoted himself to sculpture; and, at the period he was at 
Floren'ce, | da Vinci, | who was considerably older, | had 
already obtained the first rank | as painter. Some jealousy 
had existed between the two rivals, | and an opportunity 
was now afforded to them | of making an effort w^hich 
should decide to whom | the palm of superiority | was to 
be awarded. Sodarini, | whose admiration for the genus 
of Michael Angelo increased daily, | determined to employ 



IMPERSONA TIOXS. 43 

him I to paint one side of the council hall of the governor s 
palace ; | and Leonardo da Vinci \vas, | at the same time, | 
ordered to execute a picture | for the opposite part. Da 
Vinci chose for his subject | the victory gained by Angliari 
I over the celebrated Piccininb, | the General | of the Duke 
of Milan. The principal objects in the foreground | were 
a melee of cavalry, | and the taking of a standard. This 
work, I though it displayed great excellence, | and has 
been designated by an eminent critic | as exhibiting such 
talent as rarely occurs in the w^-ld, | Avas, | by common 
consent, | admitted to be surpassed | by the production of 
his rival. Michael Angelo's subjecc | Avas the "Battle of 
Pisa." In the historical account of the battle | it was 
stated I that the day on w^hich it was fought | w' as particu- 
larly hot, I and that a part of the infantry | was bathing 
quietly in the Arno, | when the call "to arms" was heard. 
The enemy was discovered in full march | to attack the 
troops of the republic. The first impulse produced by this 
surprise, | was the moment of time | selected by Michael 
Angelo. Neither artist, | how^ever, | executed the paint- 
ings. Only the cartoons, | or original drawings on paper, | 
representing the composition, | were prepared by them. 

Michael Angelo afterw^ard executed the picture | in the 
Sistine chapel. Vasari particularly notices the expression 
of an old soldier, W'ltoJ | to shade himself from the sun's 
rays, | had placed a chaplet of ivy on his head. He is 
sitting on the ground | dressing himself ; and the peculiar 
excitement and haste | occasioned by the diificulty of pass- 
ing his garments over his wet limbs, | showm by the strong 
marking of the muscles, | and an expression of impatience 
about the mouth, | is described as unequalled. All the 
celebrated painters of the day | attended to make studies 
from it. Michael Angelo | repaired to the Council Hall of 
the governor s palace | very early in the morning, | to com- 
pare these tw^o pictures alolTe, | before the people w^ere 



44 HELEN POTTER'S 

out, I and discovered that his work | was cut in pieces and 
thrown upon the floor. "Ah," said he "now I perceive 
which was the better one." It is said the picture was de- 
stroyed I by a pupil of da Vinci, who could not endure | 
to see his master outdone. 

Michael Angelo honored | his professiori ; he was proud 
of it. A man who is ashamed of his profession | will not 
succeed. His profession honors him | and not he | his pro- 
fession. Oliver Goldsmith was ashamed of his profession. 
He was a doctor, an amateur. " I only prescribe for my 
friends!" said he. "Well," said his friend, "I'd advise 
you to prescribe for your enemies, | and let your frienHs | 
alone." 

Once Michael Angelo set a fellow at some work, | and re- 
turning, I was surprised that it was not done. The fellow re- 
marked I that he was not made for an artist, | he was cut out 
I for a °loafer. "Well," said Michael Angelo, " whoever cut 
you out for a loafer | understood his business ! " Michael 
Angelo was painting in his studio ) when there entered a 
prince, | and he said to Michael Angelo : " Come to the win- 
dow and look out ; isn't that a beautiful animal ? That's my 
hor"se." " Yes," said the artist, " it is beautiful." And he 
took his brush | and painted a portrait of the horse. He 
gave it the very fire, | the very spirit | of the noble animal. 
The prince was pleased. " What am I to pay you for 
this?" he said. "One hundred pieces of gold," answered 
Michael Angelo. "How," said the prin'ce, "one hundred 
pieces of gold ? You were not twenty minutes making it." 
Michael Angelo looked at the time and said, (\)"°Just 
twenty minut^ ; but let me tell you, | it took twenty °year$ 
of labor, | of anguish, | of poverty, | (/)to be able ^to (\) 
°do that in twenty minutes." 

He distinguished himself | as a sculptor and a painter, | 
and the pope said to him : " Picture and statue may pass 
away. (^) "Build here in Roine | a colossal statiii; | a 



IMPERSONATIONS. 45 

great cathedral." He pauses. He is asked to be | an 
"architect. He is a great artist ; what if he should try and 
fail ? But he is finally persuaded | to attempt | the stu- 
pendous task, II and the result | is °St. Peter's | ^at Rome. 
He studied the architecture | of Egypt. It was massive. 
He thought of the Doric | and the Ionic. The (\) °Doric 

I was the (/) masculine, | and the (/) Ionic | the (\) 
feminine | ^order of architecture. Temples to (\) Diana 
and Venus | were (/) Ionic ; those to (/) Jupiter (\) were 
Doric. Rome was not an (/) originator, | Rome was an (\) 
imitator. Architecture is (\) massive in (/) Egypt, | (\) 
graceful in (/) G-reece, | and (/) picturesque ( \) in Rome ; 
and the (\) greatest of them all | is the great | stone | (/) 
dome I (/) of St. Peter s, | (\) in Rome. Here °his ^work 

I is in contrast to all these. Here | he is brought into 
competition | (\ ) °with them all. Here is the massiveness 

I taken from ( \ ) °Egypt ; here is the gra'ce | brought from 
(\) Athens; here is the picturesqueness | of the (\) 
masters (/) ^of the past; | and here is this old man | to 
bring °his ^work | ^into competition | with °all | ^these. 
To do a great work | requires the greatest earnestness, j 
the greatest love, | the (\) greatest enthusiasm; || °that's 
the word, j " enthusiasm,'" that you see in Dante ; that's the 
word, I the ^^ greatest enthusia&m,'' j that you see in (\) 
"Shakespeare, and ( \ ) "Beethoven. 

He remained | to the end of his life | a gruff | old bach- 
elor. There were two or three grand women at that time. 
There was Isabella of Spam; | and Vittoria Colonna, | 
the most beautiful woman | in the world. Raphael said 
his brush | could not paint her. The poet said | he could 
not I ( \ ) °praise her. She had the offer of marriage j from 
three kings. She refused four crowns. Vittoria Colonna | 
was a widow ; || and with a mind of rare culture, | fully 
appreciating the greatness of art, j she j and Michael 
Angelo I became fri^ds ; "platonic friends, of course. But 



46 HELEN POTTER'S 

when a man | writes odes to a fair laSy, | and vainly essays 
I to produce her portrait, | and seeks her society | above 
all others, | you may be pretty certain it's all °over ^with 
(/)platonic | (\) affection. Go to Italy; there you will 
see his staff leaning against the wall ; there is his pallette, 
with the colors still upon it ; there is his last w^k, | the 
unfinished picture of a lady — || Vittoria | Colonna. 

Taine says : " Michael Angelo is one of the four Immor- 
tals of art and literature ; Daiite, Shakespeare, Beethoven, 
Michael Angelo." Vittoria Colonna " retired to weep, | (\) 
to pray, | (\) to study, | (\) to write, || to stretch out her 
(/) hands | (- -) ^with benefits | to her kind." 

Michael Angelo said: " I have a wife, | who is too much 
for me | already; | one who unceasingly | (\) persecutes 
me. She is my aft, || and my works | are my childmi." 



The Hon. William Parsoks, of Dublin, Ireland, an unequalled bio- 
gi-aphical lecturer, came to the American lyceum platform about 1870, 
and has continued, for more than a half score of years, to visit us 
annually, and with increasing- popularity. He has proved to be the 
most successful orator Great Britain has ever sent to us. Identified 
with all popular refoi-ms, he is well known in England as a brilliant 
platform orator, and ranks in this country with our best Lyceum 
favorites. 

His manner is quiet and refined, his voice and inflections are 
Eng'lish ; he speaks somewhat rapidly, with his eyes confined, for the 
most part, upon the manuscript before him, apparently more through 
diffidence than from a lack of familiarity with the text. 

Costume. — A gentleman's modern English evening suit of black, is 
an appropriate costume. 




HELEN POTTER AS A CHINESE MANOAKliN. 



IM PER SON A TIONS. 



^1 



CHINESE SKETCH 



EXTRACT FROM A CHINESE PLAY. 



Argument. — A beautiful woman attempts to cross a dangerous flood 
in a trail boat. When about to perish, she prays the g-ods to save 
her, and is told that if she will pledge her unborn babe to the 
Herculean task of building a bridge across the torrent, she shall 
I'each the shore in safety. The pledge is given and she is saved. 
The trials, difficulties and perils incident to the fulfilment of this 
pledge makes the thread of the play. 



A. — Fw Reciting. \ 
Tsoi chung hing san fo chung iin 

Tsawi chung heug sun law chung yuu. 

Sing mo ming hi lok yeuiig k'iu 

Seng mo meng hay lock ya-ung k-haoo 

Ts'iii ngan m kau 

Ts-heen ng-gn m cow. 

Kun yam p'o sat ha fan 

Ke-un jTim p-ho sat ha fan 

Kung k'ii ts'im ngan 

Ke-uug k-hu ts-heena ng-gn. 

B. — For Singing. 
Yau ko chung hing shun sing ts'oi 

Yow caw chung heng sun san ts-hawi 



Kam pon piu ming, tak chung choiig tin 

Kam pong peu mang tak chiing chojig yun 

To wai k'ii mo ka pan t'iu hop kwo hoi 

Toe wy-e k-ie m65 ka pan t-eu hop quaw hawl 

Keuk pi mang long kwong fung 

Ka uk pay mang long kwong fwung 

Chuk moon shiin 

Chalk moon seen. 

tThe alternate lines in smaller ty^e and cliacritically marked, give the 
pi'onunciation. 



48 HELEN P0T2ERS 

For Protracted Singing. 
Shap se kin k. 

Sop see keen ah 

Sa tak ngo a-ha-a-ha-a 

Sa tee ngo a— ha— 2,— a— 3,. 

San yawn peau tang tang tang tang 

Sun yawn peow tang tang tang tang 

a a a a 3, a ! 

Pitch indicated by position. 



< 
ah 



Sop see keen 

ngo o 
te I 




San\ yawn\ peow ^ tang tang tang 



< 



tang a 




< . < 



Costume and Rendition. — The costume is that of a Chinese man 
of rank, or mandarin ; a richly embroidered, winged robe coming- to 
the feet ; boat-shaped, black satin boots coming to the knees ; a 
metal ci'own, with two long pheasant feathers curving up and back- 
ward fi'om the front; a wand of short peacock feathers, hung to the 
little finger of the light hand, and to be waved in token of supremacy 
as the performance j)roceeds. Cover the head, neck (behind), ears, 
and eyebrows with a fitted chamois-skin skull-cap. Crayon slanting 
eyebrows on the chamois, sew a circular piece of black cloth upon the 
crown of the cap and fasten the pigtail to the centre of the j^atch ; 
leave the cap open up the back of the neck so as to get it on, and 
fasten with a couple of pins. 

Walk with a wide base and a stride, swinging fi-om side to side like 
an amateur heavy villain in a play. Pitch the voice high for the 
recitation part, and as high as possible for the singing. Give it a 
very sharp edge, with a nasal turn to it, and you have the persona- 
tion fairly complete. 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 



49 



Directions for the Accompaniment. — These themes may be re- 
peated ad lihitum until the end of the melodramatic passages. If 
played upon a violin, the stopping should be done with one finger 
wherever practicable in order to give the glissando effect, produced 
by the Chinese violinists. If played upon the pianoforte, it will be 
much more effective if played by both hands ; the left hand playing 
the notes as written, and the right hand playing the notes an octave 
above. It would be advisable to transpose to G flat major (for the 
pianoforte) which may easily be done by placing a flat before each 
note. — Edgar S. Kelley. 



Allegro moderato 



A. — For Reciting. 




r-S^— ^— -^ -Tr — ^^ — ^-r-l t 



B. — For Singing. 



:2zS^?: 






SP-E^ 



-)^ — ^-r-7*=i 



!=r=5i:i:i=Ji^: 



«^- 



tftt-t 



■e=- 



^-0—\ [-0-^-0 — l-H 1— l-hH l-^-h^-l — 0-M--<S> 1— Ti 



50 HELEN POTTER'S 



SCENES FROM "THE TEMPEST." 



Shakespeare. 



A STUDY OF FANNY KEMBLE. 



Argument. — Prospero, the banished duke of Milan, and his daughter, 
Miranda, were sent to sea in a I'otten boat, by his usui-ping bi-other, 
Antonio. They were bcrne to a desert island, w'here Prospei-o 
practised magic. The only other inhabitants of the island were 
Ariel, a fairy spirit, and Caliban, a dwarf. Prospero raised a 
tempest by magic, to cause the shipwi-eck of the usurping duke, 
and his son, Ferdinand. They were washed ashore, and the latter 
fell in love with Miranda, and married her. 



Act I., Scene I. — On a ship at sea. A storm, with thunder and 
lightning. Enter a Shipmaster and a Boatswain. 

Master, % Boatswain, — 

Boats, [pro.']. Here, master : | What cheer ? 

Master. % Good : Speak to the mariiiei^ : fall to 't yafely, 
or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir. [Exit.] 

[Enter Mariners.] 

Boats, [oro.]. Heigh, my hearts, ch^rly, cheerly, my 
hearts ; yare, yare : °Take in the topsail : °Tend to the 
master's whistle. Blow | till thou burst thy wind, | if room 
enough ! 

[Enter Alo7iso, Sebastian, Antonio, Ferdinand, Gonzalo, and 
others.] 

Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the master? 
Play the men. 

Boats, [oro.]. I pray now | keep below. 

Ant. Where is the master, boatswain ? 

Boats. (\) [oro.]. °Do you not | hear him ? || You mar our 
lab"or, ugh ! [vexed] Keep your cabins : | You do assist the 
storm. 

Gfon. [thin], "Nay ^go^d, "be ^pa^tient. 





FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 



IMPERSONATIONS, 51 

Boats. \oro.'\. When the °sea is. Hence ! What care these 
^roar^ers | for the name of king ? (tut, tut) To cabin : 
°°silence ; ^trouble us not. 

Gon. [thin]. °Good; ^yet remember whom thou hast 
aboard. 

Boats, [oro.]. None | that I more love than Qmy°self. You 
are a "counsellor ; | if you can command these elements to 
silence, | and work the peace of the present, we will not 
hand a rope more ; use your ^au^thorityT ( / ) If you can- 
not, I give thanks you have lived so long, and make yourself 
ready in your cabin | for the mischance of the hour, if it 
so h^. °°Cheerly, good hearts. ( /) Out of our | °w^ay, | 
J. say. [Exit.] 

Oon. [thin], J. have great (/) comfort from this fellow : j 
methinks he hath no "drowning mark upon him ; his com- 
plexion I is perfect "gallows. Stand fast, | good fate, to 
"his hanging : | make the rope of his destiny | our "cable, | 
for our own doth little advantage. (^) If "he be not born 
to be hanged | "our ^case | is (\) "miserable. [Exeunt.] 
[Re-enter Boatswain.] 

Boats, [oro.]. ""Down with the topmast ; yare, "lower, 
lower ; bring her to try with main-course. [Make cries like 
a oningling of voices within, oh-oo-ah-oo.] A plague upon this 
howling ! they are louder than the w^eather | or our office. 

[Re-enter Sebastian, Antonio, and Gonzalo.] 
Yet again ? | what do you °he^ ? Shall we give "o'er ^and 
"drown ? Have you a mind to sink ? 

Seh. A plague o' your throat ! | you bawling, blasphe- 
mous, incharitable dog ! 

Boats, [oro.]. ^Work "you, ^then. 

Ant. Hang, cur, hang ! v^iq are less afraid to be drowned 
than thou art. 

Gon. [thin]. I'll warrant him for drowning; though the 
ship were no stronger than a nut-shell. 



52 HELEN POTTER'S 

Boats, [oro.]. °Lay her a-Hold, °°a-hoId: set her two 
courses; off to sea again, °lay her off, °°lay her off! 
[Ent&i' Manners^ wet.] 

Mar. °A11 lost ! to °prayers, to Sprayers ! °all lost ! (°°all 
lost ! oh-ah-o-o-o !) [oro.]. Mercy on us ! We split, we split! 
"Farewell, my wife and children! "Farewell, brother! 
[in terror] °We split, °we split, °°we split!' 

Caliban after the Shipwreck. 

Act II., Scene II.— Another part of the Island. Enter Caliban(») 

with a burthen of wood. A noise of thunder heard. 

Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up 
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him 
By inch-meal a disease !(') His spirits hear me, 
And yet I needs must curse. 
For every trifle are they set upon me : 
Sometime like apes, that moe [mo] and chatter ^at me, 
And after, °bite ^me ; then like hedgehogs, | which 
Lie tumbling in my barefoot way, | and mount 
Their pricks at my football ; sometime am I 
All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues, 
Do hiss me into madness : Lo ! now ! lo ! 
[Enter Trinculo.] ( ' ) 
Here comes a spirit of his ; and to torment me. 
For bringing wood in °slowly : I'll fall flat ; 
Perchance, he will not mind me. 

Trin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, ^to bear off any 
weather at all, and another storm brewing' ; I hear it sing 
i' the wind ; yond' same black cloud, yond' huge one, looks 
like a foul bumbard that would shed his liquor. If it 
should thunder as it did before, I know not where to hide 
my head ; yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pail- 
fuls. What have we here ? A mail or a fish ? Dead or 

(M Cal'iban; voice monotonous and gnittural. 

( 2 ) Hold e in •' disease." 

(3 ) Triu'culo; voice very thin and high; speaks fast. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 53 

alive ? \^8nuffs.'\ A fish ; he smells like a fish ; a very- 
ancient and fish-like smell. S^Snuffs.^ A strange fish ! 
Were I in England now, (as once I was) and had but this 
fish °painted, not a holiday fool there | but would give a 
piece of silver; there | would this monster make a man; 
any strange beast there | makes a maii ; when they will 
not give a doit to relieve a lame beggai-, they will lay out 
ten I to see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! And his 
fins like °arms ! °Warm, ^o' my troth ! I do now let loose 
my opinion, hold it no longer; this is no fish, | but an 
islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. 
[Thunder.] Alas ! the storm is come again ; my best way 
is I to creep under his gaberdine ; there is no other shelter 
hereabout. Misery acquaints a man with °strange ^bed- 
fellows. I will here shroud, | till the dregs of the storm be 
past. 

[Enter Stephano,{*) singing^ a bottle in his hand.] 

iSte. I shall no more to sea, to sea, 

Here shall I die ashore. 

This is a very scurvy tune | to sing | at a man's | funeral ; | 
Well, here's my comfort. [Drinks and sings again.] 
The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 
The gunner and his mate. 

This is a scurvy tune too. But here's my comfort. [Drinks.] 

Cat. Do not torment me. Oh ! 

Ste. What's the matter ? Have we devils here? Do you 
put tricks upon 's with savages, and men of Inde ? Ha ! 
I have not 'scaped ^drowning to be afeard now | of your 
four I legs; | for it hath been said, As proper a man as 
ever went on four legs, cannot make him give "ground ; and 
it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at nostrils. 

Cal. The spirit torments me ; Oh ! 

Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four legs, who 

( * ) Stepha'no; voice broken; drunken style; sings in a stupid,thick sort of way. 



54 HELEN POTTER'S 

hath °got, ^as I take it, | an °ague. | ^Where the devil 
should he learn our language ? I will give him aome relief, 
if it be but for that. If I can re°cover ohiin' | and keep him 
tame, | and get to Naples with him, | he's a present | for 
any | emperor — r-r-r | that ever trod on neat's-leather. 

Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee ; I'll bring my wood 
home faster. 

Ste. He's in his °fit ^now ; and does not talk | after the 
wisest. He shall taste | of my bottle : if he have never 
drunk wine afolFe, it will go near to remove his fit : if I can 
^recover ^him, and keep him tame, I will not take too much 
for hiin ; he shall pay for him that hath him, and that | 
"soundly. 

Gal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt ; thou wilt anon, I 
know it by thy trembling. Now Prosper | works upon thee. 

Ste. Come on your ways ; (\) °open your mouth : here is 
that which will give "language ^to you, cat ; °open your 
mouth ; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and 
that soundly ; you cannot tell who's your friend ; "open 
your chops again. 

Tfin. I should know that voice. It should be — but he is 
drowned ; and these are devils. ! defend me ! 

&te. Four legs, and two voic^ ; | a most delicate mons- 
ter ! [ Snuffs.] His forward voice now | is to speak well of 
his friend; [snuffs.] his backward voice is to utter "foul 
speeches, and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will 
recover him, I will help his ague. "Come — ^Ameri ! ^I will 
pour some in thy other mouth. 

Trin. "Stephanb, — ___ 

Ste. J)oth thy other mouth | call ine ? | MefcyJ mercy ! 
This is a devil, and no monster. I will "leave him ; I have 
no long I spoon. ^ 

Trin. Stephano ! if thou be'st Stephano, touch me, and 
speak to ine; for I am "Trinculo ; be not afeard,— thy 
^ood friend Trinculo. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 55 

&te. If thou ^be'st Trinculo, | come forth ; I'll pull thee 
by the lesser legs ; if any be Trinculo's le"gs, | these | are 
they. Thou art very °Trmculo, indeed : How earnest thou 
to be the siege of this moon-caif ? 

Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. But 
art thou not drowned, Stephanb ? I hope now, (^) thou art 
not drowned. Is the storm overblown ? I hid me under 
the dead moon-calf s gaberdine, for fear of the °storm : 
And art thou living, Stephanb ? Stephanb, two Neai)oli- 
tans 'scaped ! 

Ste. Pr'y thee, do not turn me abo'ut ; my stomach | is not 
constant. 

Cal. These be iine things, an if they be not sprites. 
That's a brave god, | and bears celestial liqiibr : I will 
°kneel to him. 

8le. How^ didst thou °'scape ? How cam'st thou hither ? 
swear by this bottle, (\) | how thou camest hither. 

Ccd. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy true subject; 
for the liquor is not earthly. 

Bie. Here ; swear then | how thou escapedst. 

Trin, °Swam ashore, man, like a duck ; I can swim like 
a duck, I'll be sworn. 

&te. Here, kiss the book : Though thou canst | swim like 
a duck, thou art made | like a °goose. 

Trin. Stephanb, hast any more of this ? 

Ste. The whole Ibutt, man ; my cellar | is in a rock by the 
sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf? 
how does thine ague ? 

Cal. Hast thou not dropped | from heaveii ? 

&te. Out o' the °mo"bn, ^I do as°sure ^thee. I was the 
man-i'-the- | °moOTi, | when time v>^as. 

Cal. I have seen thee in her, | and I do adore thee ; | my 
mistress show'd me thee, | and thy dog and thy bush. 

Ste, Come, | (\) swear to that ; kiss the book ; I will fui'- 
nish it I anon | with | new contents : swear. 



56 HELEN POTTER'S 

Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow | monster. 
(/) I afeared of him! | ^a very weak | monster. The 
man-(\) °i'-the-moon ! | a most poor, | credulous | mon- 
ster: well drawn, monster, | in good sooth. 

Cat. I'll show thee | every fertile inch | o' the island ; and 
I will kiss thy foot. | I pr ythee, | be my god. 

Trin, By this light, a most perfidious | and drunken 
monster ; | when his god's asle"ep | he'll rob his °bottle. 

CaL I'll kiss thy foot ; I'll swear myself | thy "subject. 

Ste. Come on then ; dowii | and swear. 

Trin. I shall laugh myself to death | at this puppy- 
headed monster ; a most scurvy monster ! I could find in 
my heart to beat him — 

Col, I'll show thee | the best springs; | I'll pluck the 
berries; | I'll fish for thee, | and get thee | wood enough. 
A plague I upon the tyrant | that I serve ! Til bear him 
no more sticks, but follow thee, thou wondrous man. 

Trin. A most ridiculous monster ; to make a wonder | of 
a poor drunkard. 

Ste. I pr'ythee now, | lead the way, without any more 
talking. | Trinclilo, | the King, | and all our company else [ 
being drowiied, | we will | "inherit here. 

Col. "Farewell, master; "farewell, ""farewell. [Sings 
drunkenly .'] 

"No more dams I'll make for fish ; 
Nor fetch in firing 
At requiring, 

"Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish; 
""'Ban 'Ban, ""Ca— Caliban, 
""Has a new master— ""get a new man. 

I Exeunt. '\ 



Frances Anne Kemble was born in London, England, November 
27, 1809. She made her debut October .f), 1820, as Juliet. Her last 
appearance on the stage was in New York in June, 1834. The same 
year she was man-ied to Mr. Pierce Bntler, of Philadelphia. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 57 

Some years ago this extraordinary artist gave a series of Shake- 
spearian readings in Steinway Hall, New York. It was the wiiter's 
good fortune to attend this course of very remarkable perfoi'mances. 
Here was a plain woman, sixty years of age, in simple evening toilet 
of rich silk, with high corsage and long coat sleeves, no cosmetics 
whatever, or make-up, her hair in a scanty French twist at the back, 
and combed smoothly over her ears in front (at a time, too, when 
ladies' chignons were imposing affairs of waterfalls and puifs), who, 
without scenery, music, or assistance of any kind, held audiences 
from three to four hours, to hear her read entire plays from Shake- 
speare, and this, too, while seated behind a low table. Such a thing 
was never done before, and will probably never occur again. No 
one left the hall, no one consulted a watch, no one yawned ; and when, 
at last, the door closed upon her retreating form, the audience 
awakened as from a dream, and, with evident signs of regret, slowly 
arose and moved silently away. No one desired to speak or to be 
spoken to ; such was the power of this most wonderful woman, the 
greatest reader America has ever known. 

After many years, the writer can still hear the ring of Miranda's 
voice, the sustained and incomparable guttural of Caliban, the terri- 
fied cry of the wrecked mariners, and the rhythmical swing of Ariel's 
voice, saying, 

"On the bat's back I do fly 
After summer merrily," etc. 

Her rendition of "The Tempest" can never be forgotten. No 
company of stai's, with scenery and music complete, can evei* present 
to the soul's eyes such a panorama of that great play as did this 
solitary, inspired reader. As a girl, Fanny Kemble was petite and 
beautiful. Her black hair, very brilliant eyes, and lithe, graceful 
figure attracted the attention of artists and playgoers everywhere, 
and she became a great favorite. At sixty she was still well pre- 
served and beautiful. Her voice, full and elastic, was capable of 
infinite variety in quality, expression and power. A woman of edu- 
cation, culture and positive opinions, she raised her daughters to enjoy 
athletic exercises, and to a freedom from conventional training, not 
usual to persons in their station of life. She rejoiced in health and 
power of body and mind, and was proud of her ability to vault into 
a saddle without the aid of block or servant. At the same time, she 
was an aristocrat in every sense of the term. Her managers, even, 
were excluded from her presence, and reached her with difficulty, 
except by written messages. In travel, when sleeping-coaches were 
unknown, it was her custom to order and pay for two entire seats in 
the railway carnage for her individual use, in order to avoid contact 
with her fellow-travelers. 

Costume and Rendition.— In her New York engagement, referred 
to above, Mrs. Kemble Butler, wore a different, though equally rich, 
costume each evening, and it is said selected one to suit the play she 
was about to read. For "Midsummer Night's Dream," she wore a 
bridal robe of white, etc. One of her costumes was a lavender moire 
?i,ntique, with full skirt and a sweeping train of unusual length ; a 



58 HELEN POTTERS 

plain bodice, pointed back and front; a high corsage and long coat 
sleeves. A rich collar and cuffs of round point lace ; white kid gloves 
and slippers ; a filmy lace handkerchief, vv^hich could easily have 
been drawn through a thimble, completed this plain but elegant and 
expensive toilet. 

The student will endeavor to keep the various persons in these 
scenes distinct, each one from all the others, both in voice and action. 
To confuse or let one quality of voice merge into another would spoil 
the dramatic effect, and fail to please the nearers. 

At Steinway Hall, Mrs. Butler entered right, and bowed very low, 
holding up the sides of her ample skii-t ; then advancing to a chair, 
which was behind a small table near the front of the platform, she 
bowed again, in old time courtly fashion, slowly and lowly ; pulled 
back the chair and, still standing, opened the book and read the 
name of the play and "Dramatis Personse." This done, she seated 
herself, deliberately arranged her drapery, picked up the gauzy 
handkerchief and dropped it in a heap on the table beside her book, 
looked respectfully at the audience before her, and began to read. 
Her action, while sitting to read, was necessarily confined to her arms, 
shoulders and facial expression ; yet it was effective and satisfactory. 
She turned nght, increasing her height, and looked the haughty 
monarch. She turned left, and, sinking in stature and lifting the 
shoulders slightly, appeared the subordinate or slave. She shouted 
in tones of fear and despair when the ship was wrecked ; she mut- 
tered and grumbled in guttural monotone for the savage Caliban ; she 
spoke in softest, smoothest voice for Ariel or Miranda. "When the 
program was half done, she rose from her seat, stepped out to the 
end of the reading-table, and bowed x^rofoundly to the audience. 
Then she proceeded to the door of the ante-room, turned about and 
bowed a second time, as profoundly as before. At the expiration of 
precisely ten minutes, she repeated the entire routine of her first 
entrance, and at the close of the readings, repeated the exit of Part 
First. 

THE CHEMIST TO HIS LOVE. 



Oh, come where the Cyanides silently flow, 
And the Carburets droop o'er the Oxides below ; 
Where the rays of Potassium lie white on the hill, 
And the song of the Silicate never is still, 

Come, oh, come ! Tuniti tum tum ! 

Peroxide of Soda and Urani-um ! 

While Alcohol is liquid at 30° 

And no chemical change can affect Manganese ! 

While Alkalies flourish and Acids are free. 

My heart shall be constant, sweet Polly, to thee ! 

Yes, to thee ! Fiddledum dee ! 

Zinc, Borax, and Bismuth and H X C, 



IMPERSONA TIONS, 



59 



WOMEN ALL AT SEA. 



ENCORE PIECE. 




[here is no subject on which women are more 
helplessly afloat than on matters relating to 
marine architecture. Such knowledge don't 
stick in her brain. The captain who attempted 
teaching nauticalism to a party of ladies on a 
yacht, not long since, fared as follows : (') 
hady No. 1. °Now, captain, what is a sloop ? 
Captain. A sloop has but one mast. 
L. [pointing to a schooner ^ °Is that a sloop ? 
C. No ; that is a schooner. A sloop has but one mast ; 
a schooner has two, as you see. Now remember, sloop one 
mast ; schooner two. 

L. "Certainly. How many masts has a ship ? 
C. Three. 

L. °How many masts did you say a sloop had ? 
C. One. Sloop one mast ; schooner two ; ship three. 
L. [pointing to a sloop \ °Is that a schooner? 
C. No ; that's a sloop. Sloop one mast ; scliooner two ; 
ship three. 

L. °0h, yes ; I remember. [ Poiriting to a sMp.'] Isn't that 
a pretty schooner ? 

G. That's not a schooner. That's a ship. Don't you see 
it ha.s three ma^s ? 



(1) This should be read in Uiree A^oices : The first ladj- liigh and aflected ; 
the second lady low and lisping, taking breath ^fter-^very word or two \ the 
captain orotund and guttural, 



60 HELEN POTTERS 

L. °0h, yes. Isn't that a big schooner lying at the wharf 
there ? 

C. Schooner ? Now, how many masts \ has that vessel ? 

i. °Three. 

C. Well, what has three masts ? 

L. °A sloop. 

C. [loud]. Sloop! Sloop has one mast, I tell y mi ; 
schooner two ; ship three. 

Lady JVo. 2. oWhy, Thuthan, how thtupid | you are ! A 
thkoonah alwayth hath one matht. 

L. [chatty f and quite oblimous of stupidity]. °What is a 
brig? 

C. A brig has two masts, and is rigged like a ship, with 
square sails. 

L. No. 2. ^Thuthan, look at thith thloop | coming along. 

C, [staccato and impatient]. °That's a schooner; don't 
you see the two masts ? Sloop one mast ; schooner two 
masts ; ship three masts. 

L. °Are those schooners there with three masts ? 

C. [abrupt]. Yes. 

L. °l thought you said a schooner had but one mast ? 

C. [impatient]. Two! two masts! Sloop one mast; 
schooner two ; ship three. 

L. °But that schooner has three masts ! 

C. [louder]. Well, it is a "three-^masted °schooner. 

L. °Then a schooner can have any number of masts ? 

C [excited]. No; sloop one mast; schooner two, and 
sometimes three masts ; ship three masts. 

L. °rm sure I can't make it out. It's ^aw^fully ^puz- 
zling. What is a bark ? 

G. [unable any longer to popularize nautical science falls 
back on technical expression, fast and loud]. Vessel with two 
masts ship-rigged, and one mast, sloop-rigged ; square sails 
on fore and mainmast, and fore and aft sails on the niizzen, 

L. °Mizzen ! What is I a mizzen ? 



IMPERSONATIONS. 61 

a. °°Last mast aft. 

L. °Aft ! What's the aft ? 

C. °The stern, madam. 

Ij. °0h, I'm sure I can't make it out. How many masts 
has a man-o'-war ? 

a °Three. 

h. °Well, what's the difference between a man-o'-war and 
a smack ? 

C. [groans, and is silent]. Oh ! 

L. No, 2. ^What are thothe thtikth acroth the mathth of 
that thkoonah, captain ? 

C. °°That's not a schooner, [teeth closed ] That's a ship. 
Those are the yards which hold the sails. 

L, No. 2. „0 ! I thee, I thee ! 

C. [encouraged]. Now, the first yard on the foremast is 
the fore yard ; [patiently] the second is the fore topsail yard ; 
the third is the fore gallant yard. 

L. °What is that yard sticking straight up out of that 
little schooner ? 

C. [low, guttural]. ° Great Scott! °°That's not a schooner ; 
it's a sloop. What you call her yard | is her mait. 

L. No. 2. ^Thertainly, Thuthan. How thtupid you are ! 
Captain, what are the namth of the other mathth on that 
thkoonah'th yardth you were pointing out to uth ? 

L. Isn't that a pretty ship sailing along ? 

C [groans and tears hair]. °°Ship ! That's an old tub of 
a schooner, ^ma' am:. °°Schooner | two masts; °°ship thr"ee; 
sloop °one, J. tell you. 

L. °Can a sloop | have two masts ? 

C. [shouting]. No! no! no! Sloop one mast; schooner 
two ; ship three. 

L. No. 2. qHow many mathth hath a theip, captain ? 

C. Ship three masts ; schooner two ; sloop ONE. 

L. °Yes, I know. Schooner o'ne | — no, two masts ; sloop 
two — no, three ; ship one. There ! 



(52 HELEN POTTERS 



CARDINAL RICHELIED, 

PART FIRST. 



From ** Richelieu." — Bulwbr Lytton. 



A STUDY OP EDWIN BOOTH. 



Argument. — Cardinal Richelieu, Prime Minister of France, beset by 
intrig-ues and court strug-g-les which required the subtlest inventions 
of self-defence, is recorded as vindictive, crafty, and unscrupulous ; 
but he was devoted heart and soul to France, and if he was her 
dictator, he was also her benefactor, and left her in better condition 
than ever before. He was no less generous to merit, than severe 
to crime. 



Act II., Scene II. — A room in the Cardinal's Palace. [Enter as if 
speaking- to some one with you.] 

Richelieu, And you will engage | to give the Duke's 

dispatch | to whom I send ? 
Voice. Ay, marry ! 
Rich, [aside]. Huguet? || (') No; | 

^He will be wanted "elsewhere". 1 1 1 Joseph ? || "zealous, | 
^But too well known ; || too much | the | "^ elder ^brother. 
Maupfat (^)? II alas ! his (\) wedding-day ! 
Frangois (') ? || (accel.) the °man of ^men ! QUnnote"d, °young, 
^Ambitious. [Go to the door and call.] Francois ! °Fran9ois ! 
[/Speak fast.] ( \ ) "Follow • this fair lady. [Speak as to 

another person.] 
(g.) ^Find him suiting garments, Marion ; | [to Frangois] 

"take _ 

My fleetest steed ; "arm thyself to the teeth ; 
(Accel.) A packet will be given you, with orders, | 



(1) Hew'ga. 
( a ) Mo'pra 
( 3 ) Fran'swfi-, 



IMPERSONATIONS, 63 

qNo matter what ! The instant that your hand 
Closes upon it — °clutch °z^, | (\) like your honor, 
.Which (\) °death alone | can steal, or ravish; | set 
°Spurs to your steed ; be ^breath^less, till you stand 
(\) °Again before me. °Stay, qSiF! You will find me 
Two short leagues hence, at Ruelle, | in my castle. 
Young man, be blithe ! for, | note me, | °from the hour 
I grasp that packet, think your guardian star 
(g.) °Rains ofor^'tunes ^on you! | [Hold "n" in "fortunes," 

and run down the scale.] 
Voice. If I fail — 
Rich. Fail — [Sweep of an octave on '* fail," and hold the " 1 ; " 

voice somewhat guttural.] 
(/) qIu the lexicon of youth, | which Fate reserves 
( /) For a bright manhood, there's no such | °°word | 
„As— ""faTl ! [hold the '' 1."] You will instruct him "further, 

Marion. 
( — ) Follow her | but at a distance. Speak not to her 
Till you are housecl. "Farewell, boy ! [point to door and 

shake hand high.] ^Never say 
" Fail " ^a^gain ! || [Hold the last " n," running down the scale 
an octave, and change to a triumphant, low laugh.] oHa, 
ha, ha! [without breathing from ^^ never ^^ till "ha, ha, 
ha," is ended ; then quickly change the voice and proceed.] 
Voice. (\) °I will not! 

Rich. [Rub your hands, iri lieu of patting the locks of Fran- 
cois.] (\) "There's my young hero! [Stand, silent a 
moment.] 
(- -) So, they would seize my person | in this place ! 
(\)°I cannot guess their scheme. "But my retinue 

Is here | too large ! ( ) A single traitor | could 

Strike impotent the fate of "thousQands ; [confidentially] 

"Jo^seph. 
Art "sure ^of Hu°guet ? "Thmk, || we "ha^'d | ^his "fath'er ! 
Voice. You've heaped favors on the son. 



64 . HELEN POTTER'S 

Rich. ^Trash! ^favors °pas^ (g.) ^that's °nothingI In his 

hours 
i^/)Jdi confidence with ymi, | has he (/) | ^named | the 

^favors 
To °coME I ( — ) ^he counts on ? {Hold the ^^ m^' in ^^ come ; " 
running down ihe scale.] 

Voice. Yesi a "colonel's orank, ( ) and letters of nobility. 

Rich. °Wh'at I ^Hu°guet ! ||| ^Colonel ^ and °noblemah I 
(/) My bashfuTHugiiet ! (\) That can never Se^I 

( ) We have him (\) not the less. We'll ^promise it! 

^And see the ''Kifig | "withholds ! 
[Monologue can end here.] 

( ) You are right, | this treason 

Assumes a fearful aspect ; but once crushed, 

Its very ashes shall enrich the soil 

Of power, and ripen such full sheaves of greatness 

( ) That all the summer of my fate | shall seem 

"Fruit^less | ^beside | the °autumh ! [Pace up and cUmn.] 
[Solemnly.] Yes, for °sweet ^France, (\) "Heaven grant it. 

( ) my country. 

For thee, || thee \ °only — | ( ) ^tho' men deem it not — 

"Are toil and terror ] my familiars ! || I 
{/) Have made thee || great and fair ; || upon thy brows | 
Q Wreathed the old | Roman | laurel ; [ (/) at thy fe"et | 
Bowed ° nations \ ^down. || 

( ) In the olden times | before us, \ patriots lived 

And died | for "liberty. Beyond 

( ) The map of France, my heart ^can travel not, 

But fills "that ^limit | ( ) to the farthest verge ; 

And I while I live, \ ° "Richelieu and France | are "one. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 65 



CARDINAL RICHELIEU. 

PART SECOND. 



Act III., Scene I. — Enter slowly, reading- a book. Francois hastily 
enters without the packet. Turn as if suddenly interrupted, and 
throw away the book. 

Rich, "Philosophy | ^thoii liest ! ha ! 

Quick — the dispatch ! Power ! Empire ! Boy, the "packet ! 

Voice. Kill me, my lord ! 

Rich, [guttural]. They knew thee — they suspected — 

They gave it not ! (\) °°Out with it ! 

Ha! [trembtin.g'] °go ^on ! || [Run the ^^n'* up nearly an 

octave.] 
[Impatiently.] {/) Speak not of me ; ^thy (\) '^country Js 

in danger ! || 
(/) Spare not thy life ? (\) Who | spake of | life^ 
I bade thee grasp the treasure | as thine. | °horior, 
(/) A jewel worth whole [^w^^wraZ] °°hecatombs | of lives. 

[Hold the " m " in " hecatombs," and run down half an 

an octave or more.] 
Begone ! redeem thine honor ! ^Back to Marion, | 
Or Baradas, | or "Orleans; | track the robber; 
(\) "Regain the packet — or crawl | on to age, | 
( — ) "Age and gray hairs like mine, and know | thou hast 

lost 
That I which had made "thee "great, | and saved thy 

country ! 
(g.) See me not | till thou'st bought the right to seek me. 
"Away ! nay, | cheer thee ! thou hast not (/) ^f ailed "yet; 
(/) ^There's no such word | ^as | [guttural] "faTl ! (1-1-1.) 

[Point to door, and turn the eyes slowly as if watching 

some one go thence ; then continue in soliloquy.] 



66 HELEN POTTERS 

Rich. The °poor oyouth ! 

An elder | had ajjked °life ! ^I love | the young ! 

For as great men live not | in their own time, 

But the next race, ( — ) so in the young | my soul 

Makes °many ^Richelieus. l| {Walk up anddowti with stately 

stride.] He'll win it yet [halt]. 
°Fran9ois ? || file's °gone ! {{ ^80, ""so ! my °murder ! Marion's 

warning. 
This bravo's °threat ! for the morrow's dawn ! 
(--) ^ril set my spies to work ; (/) I'll make all space, | 
(\) °As does the sun, | ^an "universal eye. || 
( — ) Huguet shall track | Joseph | "confess; °ha, ha;|j 

[choke.] 
Strange, | while I laughed [ I shuddered, | and ev'n now, 

[press hands to left side, one over the other] 
(- -) Thro' the chill air | the beating of my heart, | 
( — ) ^Sounds I olike a "death-^watch | ^by a sick man's 

pillow. 
If Huguet I ^could \ "deceive me. || 
[Cough and exit, seeming feeUe.] 



Edwin Thomas Booth, an Amei'ican actor, was born at Bel Air, 
Md., November 13, 1883. He first appeared at the Boston Museum, 
September 10, 1849, and the season of 18<J4-5 he played "Hamlet" 
in New York 100 nights. Later he built " Booth's Theatre," corner 
of 23d street and 6th avenue. New York, and spent a fortune trying- 
to establish the legitimate drama. The laudable enterprise was not 
a financial success, and was abandoned, to the regret of all lovers of 
true art. He is at his prime in artistic work, as his continued popu- 
larity and crowded houses bear ample testimony. 

What can be said of this accomplished and bi'illiant artist, to add 
to the universal praise accorded him ? His photograph is in every 
treasured album ; his personal appearance and masterful, finished 
work are familiar to all who make any claim to culture or information 
among the English-speaking people of the world. 

A student of histrionic art who has never witnessed one of his 
impersonations, should make any reasonable sacrifice to do so. Go 
alone ; otherwise, engage to speak not one word, nor to take your 
thought one moment from the play, during the entire performance ; 



IMPERSONATIONS. (57 

look and listen with all your heart and soul, mind and strength, and 
you will have had a lesson which will abide with you as long as you 
live. 

His peculiarities are, fii-st, repose; a repose which, even in the 
intensest passion, gives the impression of vast reserve force, a self- 
control under accumulated provocations. There is no exaggeration 
of attitude, no strain of voice ; yet the spectator holds his breath, 
anticipating an explosion which never comes. The storm rages dark 
and dangerous within, but never breaks forth in fall force. Thus the 
hearers are kept in a state of thrilling suspense. Were the torrents 
let loose, then the worst has transpired ; the suspense is over, and 
we breathe again, as in a storm, thunders cease, and we are not dead. 

His second peculiarity is iMch-transition ; a glide, or step of three 
to eight notes, on or between syllables and words. 

His third peculiarity is a trailing walk, as if the foot was loth to 
leave the floor, and was pulled up until, by reason of the weight on 
the forward foot, it was forced to advance to restore equilibrium. 

Fourth, a 7'ich, low voice and distinct enunciation; never hoarse, 
never disagi-eeable, always understood. 

Fifth, a mobile face, capable of successive instantaneous changes, 
although usually of the intellectual rather than the emotional type. 

Costume. — For Part First.— K. black robe, bound around the bot- 
tom and up the fi-ont with red ; a broad red ribbon sash, with tassels, 
tied on the left side, and spread wider in front, like a child's sash ; 
red buttons about the size of a cent, set an inch apart down the 
entire front ; a shoulder-cape to match the robe ; about the neck a 
rosary ; also a gold chain, with a cross two inches long attached ; a 
seal ring upon the third finger of the rig-ht hand ; a wide linen col- 
lar, and deep cuffs (outside the sleeves to the elbow) ; black hose and 
red kid shoes, or red hose and black low shoes, with rosettes and 
large bright buckles. Hair, gray and long, reaching to the collai', 
and slightly turned at the ends ; gray moustache, imperial, and 
heavy eyebrows ; a small black skull cap, bound with red, upon the 
back or crown of the head ; a cloak, also black, may or may not be 
added. 

Make-up. — Red about the eyes (over and under them), also a red- 
dish tint about the nose and under lip. Whiten the cheek bones and 
forehead ; shadows in the hollows of the cheeks, and lines across the 
forehead with brown grease paint. The wig should have a false 
forehead with the eyebrows attached, and blended at the temples 
with grease paint ; the moustache and imperial fastened to the flesh 
by means of artist's wax, made for the purpose. 

For Part Second. — A red train dress, with red sleeves, and deep 
cuffs. The robe bound with white and white covered buttons, as in 
first costume. A white lace and muslin over dress ; white fur cape, to 
the bottom of waist ; a broad blue ribbon around the neck, over the 
cape and under a deep linen collar, from which depends a large cross 
of precious stones ; also a rosary about the neck. Lace frills at the 
wrists of the muslin sleeves. Heavy red cord and tassels (a little left 



68 HELEN POTTERS 

of front) over the muslin and lace robe. If a cloak be added, it 
should be of red silk, long train, lined with white silk and bordered 
with ermine, or white fur, ten inches deep ; a white fur hood, lined 
with red silk, attached to the cloak and hanging down the back, over 
the fur cape ; red stockings and red kid shoes, with large i-ed velvet 
rosettes and bright, large buckles ; a cardinal's cap of i-ed may be 
added, but can be omitted without doing violence to the ensemble. 

Both scenes can be given in the same costume, giving only a minute 
or two between them. Nothing should intervene, unless it be instru- 
mental classical music. 



THE BALLET GIRL 



With complexion like the rose 

'Mid the snows, 
Due to powder on her nose, 

I suppose. 
She twirls upon her toes 
In abbreviated clothes, 
And exhibits spangled hose 

To her beaux. 

When cruel time bestows 

Adipose, 
Fairy parts and all those 

She outgrows, 
And murmuringly goes 
To the very hindmost rows, 
To pirouette and pose 

With the '* crows." 

When life frayed and faded grows, 

Like her bows, 
She in garrets sits and sews 

Furbelows 
Till her weary eyelids close 
In the peace of death's repose, 
Is she reaping what she sows ? 

Heaven knows ! 



IMPERSONATIONS. 69 



THE LADY-KILLER. 



A SOCIETY FAVORITE. 



A STUDY OP FREDERIC MACCABE, OF LONDON. 




ISS — ah — Stuniiah, — may I ask the name-u 
I of the chawming song-ii | you just gave 
us ? How — the — oh yas, yas ; I think- 
ah I I hud that-ii | in Viennah. Yes ! I 
suppose you ah (are) vewah fond of music ? 
[ Pause and listen.] (\) So am I, so am I ! Are you fond of 
^operah ? °Yas — (\) So am I; its so full of — ah — °senti- 
ment. I thought you were fond of °opQe°ra ! [Listen.] 
Extravagantly {/) fond of it, | ah! ^yas, | ^yas ! As 
Shakespeah says, (- -) " He that hath no music in his soul, 
is fit faw " — faw — is fit faw — ah || Weiihly, (really) now, | I 
forget just what he is fit faw-ah. ''He that hath no music 
in his soul " — ah — ah — [ Rub the forehead and try to think.] 
(g) °that's it, — °y^Sj y^s ! I knew he was fit faw-ah 
something; and that weminds me, | of a conundrum — a 
fwend of mine | got off the othah evening. He's a funny 
fellah, — vewy ; and I'm sho-ah | you'd enjoy it immensely. 
[Listen.] Will I tell it to you ? ^Oh ^certainly — ^certainly ; 
that is I I'll twy ; but of koahs (course) | I can't tell it | as 
my °fwend tells it, | you knaw. Indeed, I'm not vewah 
good I at conundrums; I nevah guessed one-ah | (\) 
in my life; but this | was so °vewah {/) funny | I'm sho- 
9,h, I can nevah forget it. It's so vewah good, I'm sho-ah 



70 HELEN POTTERS 

it wonld-ali, | make you laugh. [idsicZe.] ^It's vewy 
funny, vewy ! ^Let me see ! [ Thinking. ^ I'm shn-ah 
you'd laugh — yas — yas ! 

[Musingly.] "Why is the operah — ^of the ^Bo^hemiau 
^Grerl I * iio-ah | that's not the way it begins. Why — 
^why are my whiskahs — yes — that's it — that's it ; "w4iy are 
my Avhiskahs | like the operah | of the Bohemian G-erl ? 
Eh ? You give it up ? So did I — so did (iihe) I ! [ Listen.] 
Oh, yes — yes ; | I will tell you. [ Boll eyes upward, and re- 
peat monotonously to yourself.] Why is the (/) operah | ^of 
the Bo — ah — no! that's not it! Why are my °whis(/)^ 
kahs I like the ( \ ) °operah | of the Bohemian Gerl ? [ Drop 
eyes to the imaginary person near you and ansioer quickly.] 
Because there are so many chawming (\) 'airs in it! 'airs 
in it! see ! [Laugh and rub hands together.] I knew you'd 
laugh, I so many chawming 'airs in it! That's vewy good ! 
[ Very soberly.] Let me see ! Shakespeah didn't Avrite 
that operah ? No ! I thought not, | I thought not ? Miss 
Stunnah, | allow me to conduct you to the piahno ? Ah, | 
thank you, thank you ! [ Exit, holding out one arm as if a 
lady was leaning upon it ; look down upon her smilingly, and 
pat your arm where her hand should be.] 



Frederic Maccabe, an Eng-lish eccentric comedian, came to this 
country some years ago, and g-ave a season of very unique andamus 
ing- monologue entertainments, in Steinway Hall, New York. He 
played the piano, guitai', flute, and other instj-uments, and sang songs ; 
he recited dialogues, while dressed for both charactei-s, alternately 
turning the right side (dressed for a lady) and then the left (dressed 
for a gentleman) to the audience. He spoke many dialects, and was 
reported to have taken a goodly pile of Amei-ican money to England. 
Two expert valets were in constant attendance at the hall, to help 
him make his instantaneous transformations, or rapid changes of 
costume. 

One particular performance is vividly recalled ; '*' The Wandering 
Minstrels: First, Romance ; second Reality." In this, he first ap- 
peared in an elaborate troubadour suit of lavendar satin, with lace 
frills, plumed hat, an inlaid guitar, swung fi-om his neck by a rich 
ribbon, and proceeded to serenade an imaginary inamorata, at a 

* Hold the I. 



IMPERSGNATIONS. 71 

canvas window. He sang- beautifully to a g-uitar accompaniment, and 
cast languishing- eyes at the painted balcony above ; next he dis- 
ajipeared with true artistic grace, to re-appear (in forty seconds) a 
veritable gutter-singer of the slums; dirty, ragged, uncombed, with 
an ominous red nose, and hilarious locks of unkempt hair strug-gling- 
through a torn hat- crown, he sang again, in a wheezy, broken voice, 
interspersed with explanations and advice in inimitable Irish dialect. 
This of itself was irresistible comedy ; he tossed pennies into the air 
and caught them in his hat, as if they had been thrown to him from 
the windows of a tenement house. These sketches required unusual 
versatility of talent, and drew larg-e audiences. 

He had the happy faculty of portraying- the ridiculous in life with- 
out a tinge of vulgarity; e.g., in his explanations, he convulsed the 
audience by saying : "It's no throuble at all to sing, if ye'll only 
moind the top note. It's the top note that fitches yer audience. 
Now, I always moinds that ; and I fitch the top note, if I have to 
fitch him in paces ! " Then he sang a line or two, halted, saying con- 
fidentially to the audience and in a low voice, "now moind me top 
note ;" then, resuming his former style, looking up askew, and curb- 
ing himself, he broke a note in -paces sure enough. It splintered and 
flew in every direction, while he walked stiffly off, as if he had done 
a wonderful bit of artistic work, and was proud of it. The *' Society 
Favorite " is an adaptation from one of this eccentric comedian's per- 
formances. 

Costume and Rendition. — The " Society Favorite " can be dressed 
in the extreme of modern fashion, or after the fashion adopted by 
Oscar Wilde when lecturing in this country upon Esthetic Culture, 
etc. ; i. e., hair parted in the middle, knee-breeches, etc. 

Affect the English style of speech, many rising" inflections, halts and 
" all's." The quality of voice is made with the vocal organs in 
position as if about to yawn. 



THE TEH SEVENS. 



Seven years in childhood's sport and play 7 

Seven years in school from day to day 14 

Seven years at trade or college life 21 

Seven years to find and place a mfe 28 

Seven years to pleasure's follies given 35 

Seven years by business hardly driven 42 

Seven years for fame, a wild goose chase 49 

Seven years for wealth, a bootless race 56 

Seven years for hoa^rding for your heir ^'^ 

Seven years in weakness spent, and care 70 

Then die and go — you know not where, 



72 HELEN POTJERS 



ROSALIND. 



From "As You Like It." — Shakbspbarb. 



A STUDY OF MME. HELENA MODJESKA. 



Argument. — Rosalind, the daugkter of a banished duke, was re- 
tained in her uncle's court as the companion of his daughter Celia ; 
but when her uncle, the usurper, banished her also, Celia resolved 
to be her companion. For greater secui-ity, Rosalind dressed as a 
boy, and assumed the name of Ganymede ; while Celia dressed as 
a peasant girl and assumed the name of Alien a. The two girls 
wandered forth, and lived in a hut in the forest of Arden. There 
they met Orlando, who confessed his love for Rosalind, which re- 
sulted in marriage. 

Act III., Scene II. — The forest of Arden. 

Rosalind. I will °speak ^to °liim | like a saucy lacquey, | 
and under °that „hab°it | play the knave with him. Do 
you hear, forester ? 

Orlando. Very well ; what would you ? 

Ros. [Slow.'] I pray you, || [fast] what is't o'clock ? 

Orl. You should ask me what time o'day; there's no clock 
in the forest. 

Ros. Then there is no true °lover in the Qfor°est ; | else 
(\) sighing every minute, | and groaning every hour, | 
would detect the lazy foot of time | as well as a clocJc. 

Orl. And why not the swift foot of time ? Had not that 
been as proper ? 

Ros, (\) °By no means, sir. Time travels in ^di^vers 
^pa^c'es I with odi°vers °perQSo"iis. | I'll tell you who Time 
"ambles ^withal, | who Time ""trots ^with'al, | who Time 
gallops withal, | and who he stands still withal. 

Orl. I prithee who doth he trot withal ? 

Ros. [Fast.] Marry, | he trots hard with a young maid | 




MODJESKA AS ROSALIND. 



IMPERSONATIONS. Tl 

between the contract (/) of her marriage | and the (\) 
day it is solemnized ; | if the interim be but a se'nnight, 
Time's pace is so hard | \Tit.'\ that it ^eeirn the length | of 
seven years. 

Orl. Who ambles Time witEal ? __ 

Ros. [Slow.'] With a priest | that lacks Latin, and a rich 
man that hath not the gout ; [accel.] for the one | sleeps 
easily because he cannot study ; the other lives merrily, | 
because he feels no pam. 

OrL Who doth he °gallop withal ? 

Ros. [Slow.] With a thief ( to the gallows; for though he 
go as softly as °foot ^can fall, | he thinks himself too soon 
there. 

Orl. Who stays it still witEal ? 

Ros. [Sloio.] With ^law^yers | [fast] in the vacation ; for 
they I sleep \ between °term ^and °term, | and then | they 
perceive not | how time moves. 

OrZ. Where dwell you, pretty yoiith ? 

Ros. With this shepherde'ss, | my sister ; here | in the 
skirts of the forest, | like fringe \ upon a "petti^coaifc. 

Orl. Are you a native of this place ? 

Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is 
kindled. 

Orl. Your accent is something finer \ than you could 
purchase in so removed a dwelling. 

Ros, [Alarmed for fear of being discovered.] I have been 
told so I of °many ; but, | indeed, | an old religious [hesitat- 
ing] °uncle of mine | taught me to speak, who was | in his 
youth an inland man ; one that knew courtship too weTl, for 
therre \ he fell in lorn. [More confident.] I have heard him 
read ^many | ^lectures against ^it ; and I thank God, I am 
not a woman, to be touched by so many giddy ^of °fenQC'es | 
as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal. 

Orl, Can you remember any of the principal evils \ that 
he laid \ to the charge of women ? 



U HELEN POTTER'S 

Ros. There were °none ^principal ; they were all like one 
another, as half-pence are; each one fault seeming °mon' 
strous, till his fellow fault came to match it. 

Orl, I prithee recount some of them. 

Ros. [An octave.] °No ; I will not cast away my physic | 
but on those that are sick. | [Mischievous.] There is a man 
haunts the^orest, that abuses our young plants | with carv- 
ing ° Rosalind „on their^arfe ; | hangs odes upon hawthorns, 
and elegies on brambles ; | all, forsooth, deifying the name 
of Rosalind. If I could meet °that ofancy-^mon°ger, | I 
would give him some °good ^counsel, for he seems to have 
the ^quo^tidian | of love upon him. 

Orl. I am he that is so loved-shaked ; I pray you || tell 
me your remedy. 

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you ; | he 
taught me how to know a man in love ; | in which cage of 
rushes I am sure °ydu are not Qprisoiier. 

Orl, What were his ma^ks ? 

Ros. [Slow.] A lean cheek, | which you have not ; a blue 
eye, and °sunkeii, which you have not ; an unquestionable^ 
spirit, which you have not ; a beard Qneg°lected, which 
you have not [laugh] (but I pardon you for that, for, simply, 
your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue); 
\fast] then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet 
unhanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and 
°everything ^about °you | demonstrating a careless desola- 
tion. But °you are no such m'an ; °you ^are rather point- 
de°vise | (/) in your accoutrements; as loving ^your^self, 
than seeming the lover of any °othJer. 

Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. 

Ros. [Octave.] (\) °3Ie believe it? You may as soon 
make her that you ^love ^believe °it ; which, I warrant, she 
is apter to do | than ^confess ^she do'es ; that is one of the 
points, I in the which women °still give the lie | to their 
consciences. But, | in good sooth, | are you | lie^J that 



IMPERSONATIONS, 75 

hangs the verses on the trees, | wherein | Rosalind \ is so 
admired ? 

Orl. (\) I swear to thee, youth, | by the white hand of 
Rosalind, | / | am that he, that °unfm'tunate \ ^i^. 

Bos, [Laughs.] But ^are °you | so much in love | as your 
^rhymes °speak ? 

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason | can express how | 
much. 

Ros. (\) °Love is merely a ^mad°ness; | and (\)J tell 
you, I deserves as well a dark house and a whip | as 
^mad^men do; and the reason why they are °not so 
punish'd and cured | isf | that the lunacy is so ordinary | 
that the whippers | are in love too. \ Yet I profess curing 
it I by ^counsel. 

Orl. Did you ever cure any so ? ^^ 

Ros. Yesi I one ; || and in °this ^manner : He was to 
imagine me \ his love, his mistress ; | and I set him every 
day to °woo ^me ; [laughs] at which time would J, | being 
but a moonish yoSih, \ grieve, be effeminate, changeable ; | 
longing and liking ; proud, fantastical, apish ; shallow, in- 
constant; full of tears, | full of smiles; for (\) every pas- 
sion I ^some°thiTig, | and for °no ^passion truly ^anything, 
[fast] as boys and women are, ^for the most part, cattle of 
this color; °would no^ like him", | now loathe him; then 
^enter^tain him, | then for°swear him ; now weep for him, | 
then spit at him; that I drove my suitor from his mad 
humor of °love, to a living hunior | of madness; which 
was, I to forswear the full | stream \ of the world, | and to 
live in a nook | merely monastic. And thus | I cured him ; 
and this °way | will I take upon me | to wash °your ^liver | 
as clean | as a sound sheep's heart, | that there shall not be 
one spot of love m't. [Laughs.] 

Orl. I would not be cured, youth.. 

Ros. I would °cure oyou, | if you would but call me 
Rosalind, | and come every day to my cote, | and woo me. 



76 HELEN POTTERS 

Orl, Now, by the faith of my love, / will ; tell me where 
it is; 

Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you ; and, by the 
way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will 
you go? 

Orl. With all my heart, good youth. 

Ros. [Octave.] Nay, | you must call me "Rosa^lind. 
^Come, sister, | will you go ? [Exeunt.] 



Madame Helena Modjbska, Countess Bozenta, is descended from 
the Polish nobility. She first appeared upon the stage in a small 
town near her native city, Cracow ; arrived here in 1876, appeared 
in San Francisco in 1879, and subsequently made a tour of the United 
States, ending in New York city, where she was cordially received, 
praised and feasted. In May, 1881, she played at the Court Theatre, 
London, where she received the commendation of royalty. After- 
ward she played successive engagements in the United States, win- 
ning honor and applause wherever she appeared. The season of 
1889-90 she appeared in connection with Edwin Booth, to the delight 
of all lovers of legitimate drama. Few persons in public life have 
been so favored by fortune as Mme. Modjeska has ; few command 
such an array of forces to create for themselves fame and honor. 
Her ability and culture, rare grace and expression, noble sincerity 
and purity of motive and life combine to present an almost ideal 
character in the profession. 

Evidently she regards beauty and hai-mony as indispensable ad- 
juncts of art, and cherishes both with equal fervor. "Without vanity, 
she gives her person and its appointments due consideration, the 
same conscientious care that a great painter gives to his picture upon 
the easel, and with no more personal vanity in the result. It is a 
duty to art ; it is beauty, harmony, art, but not the artist. So when 
she has made herself as beautiful as possible she ceases to think 
about it altogether, and devotes herself wholly to the spirit and ex- 
pression of the character she has assumed. It is a living, talking 
picture. She is of medium size and weight, and more Greek than 
otherwise in figure and costume, since she never compresses the waist, 
and wears flowing draperies whenever there is the least excuse for it. 
Her features are large and, therefore, expressive. The marked dis- 
tance between the large dark eyes, together with a generous mouth, 
make a face that is seen and felt in the remotest corners of an opera 
house, where delicate or doll-features would be entirely lost. 

To appear after her manner, one should be coy and modest, grace- 
ful, earnest and yet clearly heard in all parts of the house. To over- 
act, rush, rant or speak rapidly would spoil everything. She may be 
said to linger in action, to the advantage of people who require time 



rMPERSONATlONS, 77 

to appreciate the tableaux. In making- an exit she moves slowly and 
reluctantly, as if she would rather not g"0, but must. In receiving- a 
flower or a g-ift, or in taking- anything- up in her hands, she handles it 
daintily, as if fearful of harming- it. She never snatches or clutches 
anything-, but takes it with a touch — almost a caress. Her speech is 
slow, the words clean cut and clear as diamonds. There is the trace 
of a foreig-n accent, however, which rather adds to than detracts from 
the charm of her utterance. It is mostly due to the trilled r which 
modern Eng-lish has partially discarded. This sound of r was much 
enlarg-ed upon and made important by the old English mastei's, 
especially in dramatic art. 

Costume and Rendition. — The costume for Rosalind is a brocade 
or embroidered tunic, square cut at the neck, and filled in with 
gathered muslin ; sleeves slashed longitudinally below the elbow, and 
two puffs of white muslin inserted ; side pocket, waist-band and long 
boots of soft, light-colored leather ; shape to match the tunic ; spear, 
when planted, reaching several inches above the artist's head. 

This extract from "As You Like It" is best given in evening toilet 
as a reading, unless it be carried on by two persons representing 
Orlando and Rosalind in costume. 



FOURTH OF JULY 



Ten little fingers toying with a mine, 

Bang ! went the powder, and then there were nine. 

Nine little fingers fixing rockets straight. 

Zip ! a kick backward, and then there were eight. 

Eight little fingers pointing up to heaven, 

Roman candles " bu'sted," and then there were seven. 

Seven little fingers punk and powder mix. 

Punk was ignited, and then there were six. 

Six little fingers for a '' sisser " strive. 

One went with "sisser," and then there were five. 

Five little fingers loading for a *' roar," 

Boom ! went the cannon, and then there were four. 

Four little fingers with a pack make free. 

Crash ! went the crackers, and then there were three. 

Three little fingers found the fuse burned blue. 

Bombshell " too previous," and then there were two. 

Two little fingers having lots of fun. 

Crack ! went the pistol, and then there was one. 

One little finger fooling with a gun, 

Didn't know 'twas loaded, and then there was none. 



78 HELEN POTTERS 



JULIET, 



From "Romeo and Juliet." — Shakespeare. 



A STUDY OP ADELAIDE NEILSON. 



Argument. — Juliet is Capulet's daughter, and Romeo is Montague's 
son. A deadly feud has long existed between the two houses. The 
young people meet at a masquerade ball, given by the Capulets, 
and fall in love at first sight. This results in a secret marriage. 
To avoid an enforced marriage with another, Juliet takes a drug 
which will cause her to appear dead for some time. The Fiiar 
who married her to Romeo is to rescue her from the tomb, and 
assist her flight ; but Romeo, not acquainted with the plan, heai*s of 
her death, breaks into the tomb and dies of poison. Juliet awaking 
and seeing him dead at her side, seizes his dagger and stabs herself. 



Act II., Scene II. 
Juliet. [Lean upon the railing, with cheek upon hand ; sigh.] 
°Ah, me ! 

°Ronaeo, QRomeo! I (\) ^Wherefore art thou | ^Eoniebf 
Deny thy fath'er, ^and re°fuse ^thy °name ; 
Or, if thou wilt °iiot, | be but sworn my °love, 
Q And °ril no "longer b'e^ | a ° Capulet. 
{/) 'Tis but thy name | that is my eneiny ; 
(- -) Thou art Jhy °self ^though | not | a "MontagTie. 
(\) ° What's Montague ? It is nor haiid nor foot, 
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part 
Belonging to a man. ( \) be some (\) °other name 1 
(>^) ° What's in a jiame ? {/) That which we call a rose, 

( ) By any j (\) °other name | would smell as sweet; 

8o (\) °Romeo would, | were he °not Romeo c^l'd, | 

Retain that °dear ^perfection | which he owes, 

^With °out (- -) that title. Ronieo, | (\) °doff thy name; 

And for thy name ( ) which is °no ^part of °th'ee, \ 

(- -) Take all | myself. 



ADELAIDE NEILSON. 



#k 



IMPERSONATIONS, 70 

\Romeo answers from the garden below. Juliet, startled:] 
(J asp.) What man °art ^thou, that thus bescreen'd in night, 
So stumblest on my counsel ? [Listens and smiles.] 
My ears have yet not drunk a "hundred words 
Of thy tongue's utteriiig, | yet | I know | the sound ! 
Art thou not (/) ^Romeo, | ^and a "Montague? [Pause.] 
(\) °How cam'st thou hitKer, (\) °tell me ? and | °where- 

jSve ? 
The orchard-walls are high and hard to climb ; 
And the place death, considering who thou art, 
If any of my kinsmen | find thee here. [Sigh, look about 

and listen.] 
[Undertone.] (\) If they do (/) see thee | ^they will 

°murder thee. [Pause.] 
I would not for the "world they saw thee here. 

( ) By whose direction | found' st thou °out ^this place ? 

[Clasp the hands and turn the face to the sky, then away from 

Romeo, and proceed.] 
Voice. By love ! 
Jidiet. Thou knowest the mask of ( \ ) "night is on my 

face; 
Else I would a maiden blush | bepaint my cheek, | 
For that | which thou hast heard me speak to-night. 
Fain would I dwell on form, | fain, fain deny | 
What I have spoke. | (\) "But farewell compliment! 
( \ ) "Dost thou I ( / ) ^OYQ me ? I know thou wilt say — "Ay ; 

( ) And I will take thy word. Yet if thou swear'st, 

Thou may'st prove false"; at "lovers' ^perjuries | 

They say ^Jdve "laughs. "Oh, | gentle Romeo, 

If thou "dost olove, | Qpro"noun^ it | (\) "faithfully; 

Or, I if thou think'st I am too "lightly "won | 

I'll frown I and be perverse, ( and say thee "nay, | 

So thou wilt woo ; (/) but, "else, | ( ) not for the world. 

Voice. Lady, I swear — by yonder blessed moon — 



80 HELEN POTTERS 

Juliet. 0, swear not (/) by the moon, | the inconstant 
moon, 
That monthly °changes | ^in her (/) circled orb, 
Lest that thy °love | ^prove °likeQwise | (\) "variable. 
Voice. What &hall I swear by ? 
Juliet. (\) °Swear not at all ; 
Or (/) if thou °wilt, (g.) swear by thy gracious °self, | 
Which is the god | of my (/) idolatry, [ 
And I'll believe thee. 

Voice. If my heart's dear love — 
Juliet. Well, do not swear ; altho' I joy in thee, 
I have no joy of this contract | to-night ; 
It is too raih, | too unadvised, | too | °sudden ; | 
Too like the lightning, | which doth cease to bT | 
Ere one can say — It lightens ! Sweet, | good-night I 
"Grood-^night, | ^good-night ! 
Voice. Wilt thou leave me thus ? 
Juliet. °What satisfaction canst thou have to-°night ? 
Voice. The exchange of thy love's vow, | for miiie. 
Juliet, {p.) J. gave thee °mine | before thou didst 

re°quest it. 
[Sigh.] And yet ] I would it were to give again. 
Voice. Wherefore? ^^ 

Juliet. But to be frank, | and give it thee again. 
[Turn as if called from within.] 
I hear some noise within ; [Hastily to Romeo.] (p.) Dear 

love, I adieii ! 

[Turn to go and answer.] (/.) °An"oh, good nurse ! [Return 

to the balcony and speak to Romeo in a subdued voice.] 

(p.) Sweet Jlontague, be true. [Tmm away, then back.] 

Stay but a little, I will come °again. [Exit. Re-enter 

hastily and leaning over balcony continue.] 
(p.) Three words, | dear Romeo | and ( \ ) °good-night, 

indeed. ^^ 

(q.) If that thy bent of love be ^honor^able, | 



IMPERSONATIONS. 81 

Thy purpose marriage, | send me word to-morrow, 

( ) ^By one that I'll procure to come to thee, 

°Where, and what °tifne, | thou wilt perform the rite ; 

And all my fortunes | at thy foot I'll lay, 

And follow thee | my lord (/) throughout the °world. 

[u4.s if called again from within^ answer while half turned to 

depart.'] 
Juliet. °I come, anon. [Then to Romeo.] 
(q. p.) But if thou mean'st not well, ( 

( ) I do beseech thee — 

[Called again.] (/.) °Bye and bye, I coine ; 

[To Romeo.] So °cease ^thy "strife | ( ) and leave me to 

my grief. || 
To-morrow | will I send. 

A thousand tinies | "good-^night I °Good-^night ! 
^GrOod-°night ! [Kissing the hand to Romeo, and with the face 
still toward him, reluctantly retire.] 



CosTUMB AND RENDITION. — Adelaide Neilson, one of the most beau- 
tiful Juliets ever seen upon any stag-e, dressed the character in white 
and silver; the jacket or cote-hardie cut low at the neck, and a long 
drapery or mantle of white satin depending from the shoulders, 
which half concealed and added length to her youthful figure. This 
seems well suited to the character, since Juliet is reported to have 
been but fourteen years old when this scene was enacted. Miss 
Neilson's appearance as Juliet was most delightful ; both from her 
seemingly unconscious beauty, and the charming simplicity of her 
manner. Her voice was sweet and clear as a silver bell, and she spoke 
and acted as if it were not only easy, but a pleasure. There was no 
straining or posing for effect, no staginess whatsoever. 

The costume of the 14th century in Italy is thus described : "The 
dress of the ladies of high degree was splendid. Gold and silver 
glittered on the garments and precious stones became very costly 
from the immense demand for them. The most universally worn 
vestment was the cote-hardie fa kind of waistcoat or jacket buttoned 
down in front), which, like that of the men, fitted tight to the shape. 
It was, however, not so long, hardly reaching to the middle. The 
corners were rounded off in front. The skirt was full and very long, 
trailing on the ground. The sleeves were similar to those worn by 
men (close-fitting as far as the elbows, and then hanging down in long 
white pendants), except that the tight undersleeves extended down 



82 HELEN POTTER'S 

on the hands. A larg-e cloak or mantle of gold and silver cloth, still 
more ample than that worn by the men, sometimes completed this 
very rich attire. Immense head-dresses of almost every conceivable 
shape M^ere prevalent throughout the century ; but at one time (about 
the middle of the century) w^e find the ladies allowing their hair to 
ornament their heads without the addition of cap, bonnet or hood. 
It was then arranged in one large plait, on each side of the face, with 
flowers or jewels interspersed. Their shoes, like the men's, were 
very long and pointed." — [Henry L. Hinton. 

According to tradition, the events recorded in Shakespeare's play 
of '* Romeo and Juliet" took place, A. D,, 1303 ; yet the writer when 
traveling in Italy, in 1881, was taken to the "House of the Cax:)ulets," 
in Verona, which, with the original balcony,was vouched for by the 
guide as genuine. 

One of Miss Neilson's costumes for Juliet was a robe of pale blue 
satin, embroidered in silver, hanging sleeves lined with white satin, 
and trimmed with swansdown; shoes to match; a soft, transparent 
white veil bordered with gold lace, which she waves to Romeo from 
the balcony. Another costume worn by her was a robe of cream- 
white satin, with long court train depending from the shoulders; 
a high pointed lace collarette fitted to a low bodice and flesh-colored 
hose, with slippers to match the dress. A large hat surmounted by 
two long plumes completed this rich yet simple toilet. 

However agreeable or like a benediction, words of love may fall 
upon the private ear, yet, exhibited as a means of public entertain- 
ment, they are often of doubtful service. All public expressions of 
love are out of place, coming from other than artistic oi-der and re- 
finement, as suggested by devotion to cause or person ; sacrifices 
made holy and consecrated by deep conjugal, maternal or other 
respectful forms of love, are always acceptable and ennobling. An 
actor may rant and "tear a passion to tatters" upon any other theme 
with less danger of becoming ridiculous ; therefore, unless young and 
fair, ay, beautiful, one should hesitate to place Juliet upon a pro- 
gram for public recital. 

The make-up of a beautiful girl is not difficult. If necessary, add 
a trifle to the length or the width of the eyebrows, soften the com- 
plexion with rose-tinted, or, if a brunette, with brown-tinted powder, 
not too white (for that is not artistic), and arrange the hair simply, in 
a style which best becomes the face. Above all be easy and look 
and act happy. 




IMPERSONATIONS. 83 



SLEEP-WALKING SCENE, 



A STUDY FROM "MACBETH. SHAKESPEARE. 



Argument. — Lady Macbeth incites her husband to murder King- 
Duncan, and afterward reveals the murder while in a state of som- 
nambulism. Her physician and a g-entlewoman watch for her, as 
she walks and talks in her sleep, to ascertain, if possible, the cause 
of her malady. 

Act v., Scene I. — Dunsinane. A room in the castle. Enter a 
doctor of physic, and a waiting gentlewoman. 

Doct. [disff. v.] ( — ) I have two nights watched with 
you, I but can perceive no °truth | in your report. When 
was it I she last w^alked ? 

Gent. (/.) °Since his majesty went into the tieTd, | I have 
seen her rise from her bed, | throw her nightgown upon 
h'er, I unlock her clo'set, | take forth a paper, fold it, write 
upon't, read it, afterward seal it, and again [ return to 
bed ; yet all this while | in a most °fast ^sleep. 

Doct. [ disg. v.] ( — ) A great perturbation in nature ! to 
receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of 
watching. In this slumbery agitation, besides her walk- 
ing and other actual performan"ces, what, at any tiine, have 
you heard her say ? 

Grent. (\) °That, sir, | which I will not report °after h'er. 

Doct. [disg. v.] You may, to °ine; ^and 'tis most nieet 
you °should. 

Gent. Neither to you, nor °any one ; having no "witiiess | 
to confirm my speech. [Enter Lady Macbeth, with a 
taper. Stand aside and speak in an undertone as if you really 
saw her enter.] °Lo oyou, | here she ^comes ! This is her 
very guise; and,°upon my life, | fast asleep. (\) Observe 
fier ; stand close. 

Doct. [disg. v.\ How came she by that light ? 



84 HELEN POTTER'S 

Gent. Why, it stood by her : she has light by her con- 
tinually ; 'tis her com°mahd. 

Doct. [ disg, v.'] (\) °You see her °eyes are oOpen. 

Oent. °Ay, but their ''sense is shut. 

Doct. [disg. v.\ (\) ^What is it she does no\v ? °Look 
I ^how she rubs her hands. 

Qent. It is an accustomed °acti^i with her, | to seem thus 

washing her hands. I have known her "continue ^in °this 

I a quarter of an hour. [ J..sp.] But, hark, she speaks! 

sh ! 1 Exit with finger across the lips, looking back as you go. 

Quickly exchange costumes, and re-enter as Lady Macbeth.] 

Lady M. Yet here's a spot. 

Out, damned spot! (\) °out, I say! One; two: 
^Why, then, 'tis time to do't. Hell | is mur%^ ! °Fie; ^my 
lord, °fie ! a ^soldier, | and afeard ? What need we fear 
°who knows it, | when none | can call our power | to ac- 
count ? ( ^ ) Yet who would have thought | the old man | to 
have had so much | (\) °blood in him ! [ Sigh.] 

( — ) ('') The Thane of Fife | °had ^a °wife; | where is 
she °now ? ( ^ ) What, | will these hands | °ne'er be clean ? 
(*) °No more o' that, | my lord, | no more o' that : you mar 
°all (/) ^with this starting. 

(^) Here's the smell | of the blood still : all the perfumes 
of Arabia | will not sweeten | this little (®)hand. Oh! 
oh ! oh ! C ) Wash your hands, | put on your nightgown ; 
look not so pale : — I tell you yet again, Banquo's ( ^ ) buried; 
he cannot | come out on's ^grave.(^) 

(1) Pass the hand over the left arm with open Ihigers, while speaking the 
next lines. 

(2) stand quite still. 

(3) Wash your hands ; pantomime. 

(4) Move forward to right. 

(5) Move back and forth, listlessly nibbing the hands, one over (he other ; 
pause, raise the hands to the face, start (as if you smelled blood), and begin the 
succeeding text. 

(8) Wring the hands again, and moan out the three •' oh's " in one long 
groan, or separately, according as you can best do it. 
C) Step forward, reach out the hand. 

(8) Move both hands down as if smoothing the turf. 

(9) Look as if you saw an apparition ; step back and cover your eyes with your 
arm, or mantle,' and at the knocking, start forward, and entreatiugly call Mac- 
beth to come away. Exit backward, beckoning him to follow. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 85 

{Asp.) To bed, to bed; there's (\) °knocking at the gate. 

Come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's done 

j cannot be °un^done ; To bed, to bed, to bed. [ ExiL'\ 



Costume and Rendition. — The g-entlewoman*s dress may be what 
you please, so it be suited to the period and her position. A quilted 
silk petticoat, under a loose wrapper, with a lace scarf or head-dress 
over a wig", and soles or sandals (see Foot Gear, p.xv.)to keep the feet 
from the floor, will answer very well. For Lady Macbeth, a soft 
white bed-g-own, or wrapper, a mantle or shawl depending from the 
shoulders to the floor (or in train), a taper, candle, or antique lamp, 
with a wick soaked in alcohol. She should be pale, with dark shad- 
ows about the eyes, and flowing hair. The two ladies should be 
strongly contrasted; hence the former should be round and rosy, 
with a wig in sharp contrast to your own hair, e. g., blonde or white 
if yours be dark, and vice versa. 

In first scene, enter dressed as a gentlewoman, and carry on the 
conversation with the imaginary physician. Represent him by 
speaking his lines in a low, sonorous voice, and avoid letting the 
audience see your lips move ; aid the ruse by the use of a handker- 
chief, by turning the face away, etc. 

Above all, do not change your attitude or manner, when speaking 
for him. You must be the same person all the time, in outward ap- 
pearance ; the other must be entirely imaginary, not seen but heard. 
This is important. "When you read or recite dialogues, you turn one 
way, and assume one manner of voice and action for one, then turn 
the other way and assume another voice and manner for the other. 
In impersonation this is not so. The one character must be pre- 
served and sustained through it all ; the other only heard ; and why ? 
Because you are dressed for the character, and cannot be any othei* 
person while in that dress. 

When you have made your exit, slip off the dress, wig, and scarf 
(you are already in the white robe), put on the mantle or shawl, let 
the hair down, whiten the face, and, with the light held low down in 
the right hand, re-appear as Lady Macbeth. Enter slowly, halting 
now and then, like one walking in sleep. After some delay, advance 
and set down the light ; move forward, and lightly chaflf or rub the 
hands, one over the other, in a semi-conscious manner, as if washing 
the hands. Halt, and intone the *'one," '* two," of the clock. 




86 HELEN POTTERS 



THE READING-CLASS, 



BEFORE THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS WERE GRADED. 



Teach&r. The first class in reading ! Take your places 
upon the floor. Come, come ! Page 144 ; all ready. Jane 
may read. 

Jane [slowly']. The curfew — 

Teacher. What are you reading ? Don't kiio\v ! " Elegy 
Written in a Country Churchyard." When you begin again, 
read the title. Come now, hurry up. Oh, you are so slow ! 
Jane [slow and monotonously]. Ele — gy | written | in | 
a I Country || Churchyard. 

Teacher. (\) °Go on, Jane ! You are so slow. 
Jane [very slotoly]. 

The I curfoAV | tolls | the knell of | parting day, 

The lowing herd | winds | slowly | o'er the lea. 
The plowman | homeward plods | his weary way. 
And leaves the world to | darkness | and to me. 

Teacher. Mary may read. 
Mary [very rapidly]. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds. 

Teacher. Oh, that's too fast ; you and Jane should practise 
together. Matilda Jane may read. 

Matilda Jane [hifj/h, sharp ^ fast and monotonous]. 
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 
The moping owl does to the moon com^^m 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 87 

Of such as wanderiug near \ her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Teachei\ Joseph may go on. 

Joseph [heavi/, riionoionous xoicel. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that "yew-^tree's °shade, 

Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
Each in his narrow cell forever laid. 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. [Sneezes.'] 

Teacher. Araminta may read. 

Araminta [falsetto voice^ jerky, with emphasis mi the sylkibles 
in italics']. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

The swallow twitt'ring /ro??i the straw-built shed, 
The cock's shrill clarion, cr/' the echoing horn. 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 



Teacher. Susie may read. [Susie giggles.] Come, Susie, 
come ! go on ! 

Susie [lisping, and giggling]. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
No children run to lisp their sire's return. 

Or climb his knees | the envied (') (go on, go on!) 
— the envied kiss to share. (') 

Teacher. Peter may read. 

Peter [strong rising inflections numerous ; tongue thrust into 
the cheek to chew upon as gum]. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield ; 

Their furrow oft | the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
Teacher. What have you got in your mouth ? take it out. 
[He takes it in his hand.] 

( ^ ) Covei' the face with the book aud turn half round. 
( 2 ) Laugh and twist ahout, and double up. 



88 HELEN POTTERS 

How jocund did they drive their team a-lield ! 

How bowed the woods | beneath their sturdy stroke ! 
[Returns it and chews again.] 

Teacher. James Baty. 

James Baty [jerking the 7iose and face askew; shutting the 
eyes tight and opening tJiem, and constant downioard inflections.] 
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 

Their homely joys, | and destiny | obscure ; | 
Nor Grandeur | hear | with a disdainful | smile 
The short | and simple annals | of the poor. 

Teacher. Diligence may read. 
Diligence [nasal, and as if minus a palate]. 
The boas' of he'ald'y the pom' of pow'r. 

An' all tha' meuty, all tha' we'th e'e' gave, 
Awai' alike th' inev'bl' hou' — 

The pa's o' glo'y lea' bu' to th' g'ave. 

Teacher. You should practise more, Diligence. Thomas 
Delaney. Sick ? Well, we'll excuse you. Pembroke may 
read. 

Pembroke [commences each line high ajid loud, and runs down 
to the last syllable on each liiie]. 

(\) °Can storied urn, or animated bust, 

(\) °Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
(\) °Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 

(\) °0r Flattery soothe the dull | °cold ^ear | of death f 

Teacher. Daniel may read. 
Daniel [monotonous oral voice ( ^ ) ]. 

°But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 
Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, || ( * ) 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 



( 3 ) For oral, begin to yawn, and keep the vocal organs iu that position. 

( * ) At " rage " rub the shoulder suddenly, then the knee, as if bitten by a flea. 



IMPERSONATIONS, 89 

Teacher, Serena Seraphina. 
Serena [weak^ affected and on a high key(°)']. 
Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 
Full many a flower | is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness | on the desert air. 

Teacher. How silly you are to put on such airs. You can 
never amount to anything until you quit it. Hezekiah may 
read. 

Hezekiah [hitching, halting^ and snuffing^ 
Some-ah village (" ) Hampden, that-ah with dauntless breast, 

The little tyrant of his fields withstood — 
Some mute, ( ' ) inglorious Milton here may rest. 

Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 

Teacher. Rodney may read. 

Rodney [stammering ( ^ )]. 

Th' applause of listening senates to command, 

The ^^reats of pain and ruin to despise, 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling ^and, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes. 

Teacher. Very well; that will do. Johnny English. 
[Johnny sniffing.] What's the matter with you ; what is it ? 
°Come (\) °come now, (\) °stop that, and go on. 

Johnny [leaves off the "^" where it should be, and puts it on 
where it should not he, and breaks down crying at the close']. 
'Ere rests 'is 'ead Mpon the lap of AEarth, 

hK Youth, to Fortune ^and to Fame Unknown ; 
Fair science frowned not Aon 'is 'umble birth, 
AAnd Melancholy marked 'im for 'er Aown. 

(• ) Curb the head, turnfrom side to side, and use " ah ; " " bfi-ah" for "bear," 
"flow-ah" for "flower," "a-ah" for "air." 
(•) Spell halfway, then pronounce the word ; "oH-a-m-p- | "Hampton." 
( T ) "al-n- I in- I g-l-o- I ^inglorious." 
( 8 ) Hold or repeat the letters in italics. 



90 HELEN POTTER'S 

Teacher. You are always in trouble Johuny. You may 
go to your seat. Sambo may read. 
Samho [negro dialect]. 

Fur frum de maddin' crowds ignoble stribe, 

Dar sober wishes nebber lam to stray, 
'Long de kool skwester'd bale ob life, 
Dey keep de noisliss tenur ob dar way. 

Teacher. Hans may read. 
Hans [German dialect]. 

Tare shatter'd oft | te yoongest | von te yare, 

Py hants onseen | bist(^) shoo'rs von liolets foont, 
Te ret-prest loves to pilt unt varple tare, 
Unt leetle foot-stebs lightly brints te grunt. 

Teacher. Charles Augustus. 

Charles [very loud and stumbling, spelling out words now and 
then, and mispronouncing them]. 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame. 
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
"With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 



Note. — This arrangement of a reading-class of the olden time 
originated with the writer, and has proved very amusing. 

C* ) Loses his place, gazes into the aii-, tries to catch a thistle- do \vu, etc. 




'^te%..^ 




ELIZABETH CADY STANTON. 



.IMPERSONA TIONS. 



91 



DECLARATION OF RIGHTS OF THE WOMEN OF 
THE UNITED STATES 



AT THE CENTEJJ^NIAL CELEBRATION OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE, 
PHILADELPHIA, JULY 4, 1876. 



A STUDY OF MRS. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON, OP THE 
NATIONAL woman's SUFFRAGE ASSOCIATION. 




HILE the nation is buoyant with pa- 
triotism, I and all hearts are attuned 
to praise, | it is with sorrow | we come 
to strike the °one Qdis°cordant note, | 
on this hundredth anniversary | of our 
country's birth. We do rejoice | in the 
success thus far, | of our experiment of 
°self-Qgovernment. Our faith is firm and unwavering | in 
the °broad principles of human rights, | proclaimed in 
1776 I not only as abstract "truths, | but as the "corner 
stones I of a republic. Yet, we cannot forget, | even in 
this glad hour, | that while all men | of every race | and 
clime I and (\) "condition | have been invested | with the 
full rights of citizenship, | under our hospitable °flag. | 
all ° women \ ^still suffer | the degra°dation | of (\) "dis- 
franchisement. 

"The history of our country | the past hundred years, | 
has been a series of assumptions and usurpations | of 
power over woman, | in direct opposition | to the principles 
of just government, | acknowledged by the United States 
as its foundation, | which are : 



92 HELEN POTTER'S. 

First. The natural rights | of each individual. 

Second. The exact equality \ of these rights. 

Third. That these rights, | when not delegated by the in- 
dividual, 1 are ^retained \ ^by the individual. 

Fourth. That no person can exercise the rights of 
others | without delegated au°thority. 

Fifth. The non-use of these rights | does not (\) ° destroy 
them. 

And for the violation | of these fundamental principles 
of our government, | we arraign our rulers | on this 4th day 
of July, I 1876 — and these \ are our 

ARTICLES OP impeachment: 

Bills of attainder have been passed | by the introduition 
of the word ^^male^' \ into all the State constitutions, | 
denying to woman the right of suffrage, ^and "thereby 
making sex | a crime — an exercise of power clearly forbid- 
den I in Article 1st, Sections 9th and 10th | of the United 
States Constitution. | 

The right of trial hy a jury of ones peers was so jealously 
guarded | that States refused to ratify the original Consti- 
tution Qun°til ^it was °guarQan°teed | by the (\) °6th 
Amendment. And yet the °women of this nation | have 
never been allowed a jury of their peers, | being tried in all 
cases by men, \ native and foreign, | educated and igno- 
rant, I virtuous and vicious. And not only are women 
denied a jury of ^their "peers, | but in some cases, | "jury 
"trial I (\) "altogether. 

During the last Presidential campaign, | a woman, 
arrested for voting, | was denied the protection of a jury, | 
was I tried, | convicted | and sentenced to a fine and costs 
of (/) Qprose°cution, | by the (\) "absolute "power ( of a 
judge I of the Supreme Court | of the United States. 

Taxation without representation, the immediate cause | of 
the rebellion of the colonies against Great Britain, | is one of 
the "grievous wrongs | the "women of this country ^have 



IMPERSONATIONS. 93 

^suffered | °during the century. Deploring °war, ^with °all 
the demoralization | that follows in its °train, | we have 
been taxed | to support standing armies, | with their waste 
of I life and wealth. (/) ^Believing in temperance, | °we 
have been taxed | to support the vice, crime and pauper- 
ism I of the °liquor ^ traffic. 

Universal manhood suffrage, by establishing an aristocracy 
of °sex, I imposes upon the women of this nation | a more 
"absolute ^and °cruel (/) ^despotism | than "monarchy, | 
in I that woman finds a political "master | in her father, | 
husband, | "brother, | qSOu. The aristocracies | of the ^old 
"world I are based upon birth, | wealth, | refinement, | 
Qedu°cation, | Qno°bility, | brave deeds of "chivalry; | in 
"this nation, | on sex alone ; exalting brute ^force | above 
moral power, | vice above virtue, | ignorance above ^educa- 
tion, I and the "son | ^ above the "mother | ^who "bore him. 

The judiciary of the nation has proved itself | but the 
echo I of the party in power | by upholding and enforcing 
laws I that are opposed to the spirit and letter of the oCon- 
sti"tution. When the slave-power was (/) ^dominant, | 
the Supreme Court decided | that a black man | was 
"not (/) ^a citizen, | because he had not the ri^ht | to 
"vote; I and when the Constitution | was so amended {/) 
^as to make "all | persons | {/) ^citizens, | ^the (\) "same 
high tribunal | ^decided || that a °wojnan, \ "though ^a 

"citizen | ( ) had (\) "not the right | to vote. Such 

vascillating (\) "interpretations | of consti"tutional "law, | 
unsettle our faith | in judicial ^au"thority, | and under- 
mine the "liberties | ^of the "whole people. 

These " Articles of Impeachment" against (/) ^our 
rulers, | we now submit | to the (\) "impartial (/) Judg- 
ment I "of the people. 

To all these wrongs | and (/) ^oppressions | woman 
(/) ^has submitted | Jltv "silence | (\) "and resignation. 
And now, | at the close | of a hundred years, | ( — ) as the 



^4 HELEN POTTER'S 

great hour-hand | of the clock that marks the centuries, | 
(/) opoints to 1876, | we declare °our ^faith, | in the prin- 
ciples I of self-°government ; our full equality with man | 
in natural rights ; that woman was made | °first ^for her ( \ ) 
°own happiness, with the ^absolute °right || (\) °to herself, | 
to all the oppor°tunities | (/) and advantages | °life (/) 
^affords, | for her QCom°plete (\) ^development ; and we 
°deny \ ^that °dogma (/) ^of the centuries, | incorporated 
in the codes | of ""all ^nations | that °woman | (\) °was 
made for man; (\) °her interests in °all cases, | to be sac- 
rificed I ^to °his I °will. 

We ask of our rulers, | at this hour, | °no special (/) 
^favors, I °no special (/) ^privileges, | no special (\) 
°legislation. We ask justice, | we ask equality, | w^e ask | 

that ALL THE CIVIL AND POLITICAL RIGHTS THAT BELONG 
TO THE CITIZENS | OF THE UnITED StATES, | BE GUARAN- 
TEED TO US II AND TO OUR DAUGHTERS 11 FOREVER. 



Elizabeth Cadt Stanton, daughter of Judge Daniel Cady and 
Margaret Livingston, was born at Johnstown, N. Y., November 12, 
1816. She early distinguished herself for her knowledge of Greek 
and of law; but as degrees were not given to women, and feeling the 
injustice of public sentiment and law concerning her privileges, she 
became an ardent advocate of equal rights and woman's suffrage. 
Mrs. Stanton is a lady of medium size, with full, fair face, surmounted 
by a halo of soft, fluffy white hair, so beautiful as to be universally 
remarked. Portly and dignified, graceful and gracious, intelligent 
and just, with a most charming repose born of benevolence, this is 
the crude pen-picture of a noble woman of seventy-five ; a pioneer of 
reform ; a representative American woman. Keeping this ideal in 
mind, speak her words with the grace, dignity and earnestness 
worthy the woman, and the cause she so ably represents. 

Costume and Rendition.— A rich, dark robe, plauily made, open 
at the throat, revealing a soft white kerchief or lace crossed under- 
neath, and a tabbed head -piece of black thread-lace, completes the 
toilet. 

The text may be read standing by a table or desk, with a chair or 
two near by. Make few gestures, speak deliberately and with sub- 
dued force. 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 



95 



NEWSPAPERS 



A STUDY OP REV. T. DEWITT TALMAQE. 



WHAT but the newspaper- 
press, I have all their 
wheels full of eyes ? All 
other wheels are blind; 
but the newspaper-press 
has sharp eyes, | keen 
eyes, | eyes that look up 
and down; | far-sighted 
and ?zear-sighted ; | that 
take in the next str^t 
and the next hemisphere ; 
II eyes of criticism; | eyes 
of investigation; | eyes 
sparkling with health ; 
eyes glaring with indig- 
nation; I eyes tender and 
loving ; eyes frowning and suspicious ; eyes of hope ; blue 
eyes ; black eyes ; green eyes ; sore ey"es ; historical eyes ; 
literary eyes ; ecclesiastical eyes ; °°eyes op all sorts ! 
(^Brethren, I forgot; our business meeting comes Friday 
evening ; we want money, and we want it bad !) 

°For all the Athenians and strangers which were the're, 
spent their time in nothing else but to hear or tell | some 
new thing ! That text gives the cry of the world | for- a 
newspaper. In proportion as men become wise^ they become 
inquisitive; not about small things, but about p'reai^er things. 
°°The great question thunders, °° what's the news ! what's 
THE news ! °Rome answered the question with the acta- 
DiURNA ; France answered it | when her physicians wrote 
out the news | for patients ; England answered it | by pub- 




96 HELEN POTTER'S 

lishing accounts | of the Spanish ArmacJa; America 
answered it, | when Benjamin Harris, published the first 
weekly newspaper, in Boston, in 1690. 

Alas'! through what a struggle, | has the newspaper come 
to its present development. As soon as it began to demon!' 
sir ate its power, super stitwrt and tyranny \ shackled it. 
There's nothing | despotism, | so much fears, | as the printing- 
press. It has °°T00 MANY EYES I Russio:, I the meanest and 
most cruel despotism on earth to-day, | keeps the printing- 
press under severe espionage. ( ^ ) A great writer in the south 
of Europe declared, that the King of Naples had made it 
unsafe to write on any subject, | but Natural History. 
Austria could not bear Kossuth's journalistic p'en, plied | for 
the redemption of Hungary. Napoleon 1st, wanting to keep 
his iron heel | upon the neck of nations, said that the print- 
ing-press I was the regent of kin^s, and that the only safe 
place to keep an editor, was in prison. But the great bat- 
tles 1 for freedoih of the press, were fought in England and 
America. 

I address you this evening, | on a subject you never 
heard before — the (\) immeasurable (\) ever{\)lasting 
blessing of a °aooD °newSopaper ! Thank God, their wheels 
are full of eyes! I give you this overwhelming statistic. 
In the year 1870, the number of copi"es of literary and 
political newspapers, published | in this country, was °one 
billion, °°FiVE hundred million. °What ^church, °what 
^reformer, °what Christian man, | can disregard these 
things ? I tell you, my friends, | a good newspaper | is the 
grandest blessing | that God has given to the people of this 
century ; the grandest temporal blessing. We have seven 
thousand dailies and w^eeklies in the United States, and 
only °thirty-six ^are a half century old. The average life 
of a newspap^ is ""fiw ^years, and most of them die | of 
cholera infantum ! 

( 1 ) Es'pe-on-azh. 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 97 

To publish a newspaper, one requires the skill, precision, 
vigilance and strategy of a ^^commaiider-in-chief. To edit a 
newspaper, | one needs to be a statesniah, | a geographer, | 
a statisticiaii, and so far as all hiowledge is concerned, | 
°°ENCYCLOP^Drc ! || And let me tell you, if you have an 
idea, | either moral, social, political, or religious, you had 
better charge on the world, through the columns already 
established. Newspapers are also the repositories of 
knowledge ; the reservoii*s of history. Adams", Jefferson, 
Franklin, Clinton, | had their hands on the printing-press. 
If one should see in a lifetime, in the way of literature, 
only the Bibte, Shakespeare, a dictionary, and one °good 
n&wspap&)\ I ohe would be fitted for all the duties of this 
life; I and for the opening of the next. They are also a 
blessing in their evangelical influence. The Christian print- 
ing-press will be the °° right wing of the apocalyptic angel! 
°The cylinders of the Christian printing-press | will be the 
^° front wheels of the Lord's chariot. The music they make | 
I mark in crescendo ( ^ ) [ and not diminuendo ! [^Exit.'\ 



Rev. Thomas DeWitt Talmage, D. D., an American clerg-yman, 
was bom at Bound Brook, N. J., Jan. 7, 1832. He was graduated 
at the University of the City of New York in 1853, and at the Theo- 
logical School at New Brunswick, N. J., in 1856. After holding- 
various Dutch Reform pastorates he became, in 1869, pastor of a 
Presbyterian Church, in Brooklyn, in connection with which he 
founded, in 1872, a newspaper and a lay college for religious and 
general education. He has won great popularity as an extempo- 
raneous lecturer. He is a tall, spare man, with long arms and a bald 
spot on his head. His voice is sharp, penetrating and nasal. His 
manner is characterized by sudden transitions in pitch, many falling 
inflections, unusual attitudes and gestures. He is a powerful, effec- 
tive and eccentric speaker. 

Costume and Renditiox. — Dr. Talmage's dress is a frock coat but- 
toned up to the chin. His hair and side whiskers are a light brown. 
Enter with long, quick steps, and at the highest places in the speech, 
throw both arms high over head, and bring them down, body and 
all, on the last word of the climax. At other times, the hands may be 
clasped behind the back, or one slipped into the bosom of the coat. 
The peculiarity of his speaking lies in the sharp, rather nasal voice, 
high pitched, and his strongly marked climaxes. 

(}) Crescendo — Crgsh-en'-do. 



HELEN POTTER'S 

PORTIA AND BERISSA 



From ''Merchant of Venice." — Shakespeare. 



A STUDY OP MRS. MARY F. SCOTT-SIDDONS. 



Argument. — Portia, the only child and heii' of a rich Venetian noble- 
man, is compelled, by her father's will, to accept in marriage the 
suitor who chooses the right casket from among three, made of gold, 
silver, and lead. The conversation is in regard to the suitors who 
seek her hand and fortune. 



Act I., Scene II. — Belmont. A room in Portia's house. Enter Portia 
and Nerissa.* 

Pot. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a- weary of 
this great world. 

N&i\ You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were 
in the same abundance as your °good fortunes are. And 
yet, for aught I see, they are as sick that surfeit with too 
mTich, as they that starve with nothing. It is no °small 
^jhappiness, therefore, to be seated in the meaii ; superfluity 
comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer. 

Pot. ( — ) °Good ^sentences, and well pronounced. 

NeT. They would be bett"er, if well "followed. 

Por. If to do were as easy as to know what were good to 
dof chapels had been churches, | and poor men's cottages 
princes' palaces. It is a °good ^divine | that follows his 
own instructions : I can easier teach °twen^ | what were 
good to be °<io7ie, than be °onk \ of the twenty | ^to follow 
mine own teaching. (/) The brain | may devise laws ^for 
the °blood; but a hot temper | leaps o'er a cold decree; 
such a hare is ^madness, | the oy^^^tlij I to skip o'er the 
meshes of °good coun^l, the °cripple. ( ' ) °But this reason- 
ing is not in the fashion to choose me a husband. (\) °0 
me, I the word | "choose! I may neither choose °whom ^I 
°would, I nor ^refuse whom I °dislike ; so is the will of a 

*Full voice for Portia ; liffht ami high I'or Nerissa. 

( 1 ) Sigh ; then begin high and soft and run down the scale to the end of the 
sentence. 




.MARY F. SCOTT-SIDDOXS. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 99 

living daughter | curbed by the will of a °dead father. 
(\) °Is it not hard, ^Nerissa, that I cannot °choose °one, 
nor ^refuse °none ? 

Ner. ( — ) Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy men 
at their death have good inspirations ; therefore, the lottery 
that he hath devised in these three chests of gold, silver, 
and lead (whereof who chooses his meaning chooses you), 
will, no doubt, never be chosen by °any ^rightly, but one 
who you shall rightly love. But what (\) °warmth is 
there | in your affection | toward any of these princely 
suitors I that are already °come ? 

Fw. I pray thee (\) °overname them; and as thou 
namest them | I will °describe them ; and according to my 
description | level | at my affection. 

Nefp. First, | there is the Neapolitan prince. 

Pot. Ay, (\) °that's a colt, | (\) indeed, | for he doth 
nothing but talk of his °horse ; and he makes it a great 
appropriation to his own °good ^parts | that he can °shoe 
him himself. 

Ner, ( — ) Then, is there the county Palatine. 

Pot. ^He doth nothing but °frowh ; as who should say, ( "^ ) 
"An' you will not ^have °me, °choose." He hears merry 
tales, and smiles not. I fear he will prove the w^eeping 
philosopher when he grows old, being so full of unmannerly 
sadness in his youth. I had rather to be married to a 
death's head | with a (\) bone in his mouth, than to either 
of the'se. ( ' ) God defend me from °these ^two ! 

Nei\ How say you by the °French lord. Monsieur le Bon ? 

Por. (\) God made him, | and therefore let him pass for 
a man. In truth, | I know it is a sm to be a mocker. But 
he ! w^hy, he hath a horse better than the Neapolitan's ; a 
better bad habit of fro^vning than the Count Palatine : he 
is °every man in °no ^man. If a throstle sing he falls 

(^) la a mock braggadocio style, running well up the scale on "me "and 
down on " choose." 
( 8 ) Turn the eyes upward, shake the head, and shrug the shoulders. 



100 HELEN POTTER'S 

straight a capering ; he will fence with his own shadow. 
If I should marry him I should marry °twenty ^husbands. 
^If he would despise me | I would forgive him ; for if he 
love me to madness | I shall | never requite him. 

Ner. ( — ) What say you, then, | to °Faulconbridge, the 
young baron of England ? 

P(yi\ You know I say "nothing to hinT; | for he under- 
stands not me, | nor I him : | he hath neither Latin, French, 
nor Italiail ; and you will come into the court and swear 
that I have a poor pennyworth in the English. He is a 
proper man's opic°ture. But, alas ! who can converse with 
a dumb show ? ( * ) °How oddly he is suited ! ( / ) I think 
he bought his doubled in Italy, his round ho^ in Fran*^, 
his bonnet in Germany, and his behavior | "everywhere. 
[Laugh heartily.'] 

Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his neighbor ? 

Por. That he hath a neighborly ( ° ) "charity in him ; for 
he borrowed a box | of the ear of the Englishroan, | and 
swore he would pay him againC) "when he was "a^ble. 
I think the Frenchman became his surety, and sealed under 
for oan°othQer. 

Ner. How like you the young Gerniah — the Duke of 
Saxony's nephew? 

Por. ( ' ) Very vilely in the morning, w^hen he is sober ; 
and "most oVileTy in the afterno'on, when he is drunk. 
When he is b^t | he is a little worse than a m'aii ; | and 
when he is worst he is little better | than a "beast : ( * ) an' 
the worst fall that ever feTf, | I hope I shall make shift to 
go without him. 

Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the^ight 
casket, you should refuse to perform your father's will if 
you should refuse to accept him. 

4 ) In a high key, mirthfully. 

» ) Prolong " charity." 

«) Laugh lightly. 

7 ) Shiver ami with a look of disgust. 

• ) Slowly. 



( 



I 



IMPERSONATIONS. 101 

Pcyr. (\) "Therefore, | for fear of the worst, | I pray 
thee I set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary 
casliet ; for, if the devil be withm, | and that temptation 
without, I I °know | he will °choose it. I will do °any- 
thing, I ^Nerissa, | ere I will be married to a sponge. 

N&r. You need not fear, lady, | the having aiiy | of these 
lords ; they have acquainted me with their determinations ; 
which is, I indeed, | to return to their home | and to trouble 
you with no more suit ; || unless you may be won | by some 
°other °s6rt than your father's imposition, | depending ou 
the "caskets. 

Pw. C) If I live to be ^as °old as Sibylla | I will die as 
"chaste as ^Diana, | unless I be obtained | by the manner 
of my father's will. ( ^^ ) I am glad this parcel of wooers 
are so reasonable; ( — ) for there is not (\) "one among 
them I but I dote j on his very absence, | and I pray 
heaven grant them | a fair departure. 

Ner> ( — ) Do you not remember, lady, in your father's 
time, I a Venetian, | a scholar, and a soldier, | that came 
hither | in company of the Marquis of ( " ) Montferfaib ? 

Pot. ( ^^ ) Yes^ | y'es, | it was Bassanio ; as I think | so 
was he called. 

Ner, (\) "True, madam; | "he, | of all the men | that 
ever "my foolish eyes looked upon, | was the "best deserv- 
ing I a fair lady. 

For, ( '^ ) I remember him "well ; | and I remember him | 
"worthy of thy praise. 

\^Ent&r a Servant.'] 

Serv. ( *" ) The four strangers seek you, | madam, | to 
take their leave : and there is a forerunner come from a 
fifth, I the Prince of Morocco; | who brings word the 
prince, | his master, | will be here to-night. 

(9) Solemnly! 
('0) Lightly. 
(»» ) Mon-fer-ra'. 

( ^' ) Hesitates, pretending to recall Avith difficulty. 
( 13 ) More confidently. 
( 1* ) In the monotonous voice of a servant, 



102 HELEN POTTER'S 

For. If I could bid the fifth ^welcome | with so good a 
heart | as I can bid the °other ^four ^farewell, I should be 
glad of his approach ; if he have the condition of a saint, | 
and the complexion of a devil, | I had rather he should 
°shrive me | than °wive me. °Come, ^Nerissa. ^Sirrah, go 
before. 

( '^ ) ° Whiles we shut the gate | upon °one ^woo"^-, (- -) 
^another | knocks | at the door. [Exeunt.] 



Mrs. Mary F. Scott-Siddons, the English actress, is directly 
descended from the famous Sarah Siddons, and partakes of her beauty 
and talent. The elocutionaiy peculiarities of this accomplished 
lady are, rapidity of utterance, and the free use of sweeping inflec- 
tions, often an octave in compass, and mostly those of the kind known 
as simple and compound rising- inflections. Her voice is clear and 
musical, but rather light. In transition from one character to another, 
little change is made in quality or manipulation of the voice. Her 
characters, in dialogue or drama, speak very much alike. All have 
clear, ringing voices, and use the same sweeping inflections. This, 
however, does not affect her acting, where she is called upon to 
sustain one character only. Her impersonation of "King Rene's 
Daughter " (the blind girl who thought all persons like herself, being 
ignorant of her misfortune) is one of the most exquisitely refined and 
graceful pei'formances ever witnessed in this counti-y, and her " Rosa- 
lind " is almost as good. 

In appearance, she is of medium size, giving an impression of being 
tall and slight of figure. She walks ui^on the lyceum platform with 
long, gliding steps, and deliberately arranges her stand, books, chair 
and train before acknowledging her audience. Then she opens a 
lai'ge volume of Shakespeare, looks about her, and, without salutation, 
begins to read very rapidly, or rather recites from the selected play. 

Her gestures are few, and those with the right hand only, the left 
resting lightly upon the open book, which lies upon a small table at 
her left. At the close of Part First, also at the end of the program, 
she retires with a slight bow, and the same long, sweeping step as 
before. 

Costume.— The costume is Venetian— white, trimmed with silver ; 
long open sleeves, low corsage, with full long drapery. It is very be- 
coming to young ladies of fair complexion. 

This scene is prepared for a reading — not for a monologue imper- 
sonation, and the antique or the modern evening dress can be worn. 
For her readings, Mrs. Scott-Siddons wears unique and tasteful robes, 
evidently of her own design, often with very rare laces, and draperies 
of antique form. 



( »* ) As if weary, sigh, and move slowly away 





ELLEN TERRY AS PORTIA. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 103 



PORTIA AT THE BAR. 



From "Merchant of Venice." — Shakespeare. 



A STUDY OP MISS ELLEN TERRY. 



Argument. — Antonio, a rich merchant of Venice, by signing a bond 
to a Jew for cash, loans his friend Bassanio three thousand ducats. 
Disasters follow, the money is not returned, and the Jew insists upon 
having the penalty of the bond, which is a pound of Antonio's flesh. 
Portia, disguised as a young doctor of laws, proceeds to Venice and 
pleads the case before the duke. 



Act IV., Scene I. — A coui't-room in Venice. Enter Portia. [Pa?^e 

andj look right and left.'] 

Por. Whicli I [r. h, s. h. o.] is the merchant here, | and 
which I [l. h. s. h. o.] the Jew ? 

Duke. [Disg. ».]. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand 
forth. 

Por. [looking right']. (/) Is your name | ^Shy°lock ? 

Shy. [gruff]. (--) Shylock | is my name. 

Por. Of a °strange ^nature | is the suit you follow ; yet 
in such rule, | that the Venetian law cannot Qim°pugn 
^you, I as you do proceed. [Turn and look left, r. h. h, /.] 
You II stand within his danger, | (/) do you not? 

Ant. [voice]. ( — ) Ay, so he says. 

Por. (\) °Do you ^con | ^fels the °bond? 

Ant. [voice]. ( — ) I do. 

Por. °Then | must the Jew | o'be (\) "merciful. 
^hy. [gruff^. On what com°pulsion j ^must I ? Tell me 
that. 

Por. [surprised]. The quality of mercy j is not | strained ; | 
It droppeth, | [look up, b. h. a. o.] as the gentle ram from 
heaven, I 



104 HELEN POTTER'S 

Upon the place [6. h. o. e.] {') beneath. ^It is °twice 

^ble^ss'd ; 
It blesseth him that gives | and hirn that takes : 
(/) 'Tis mightiest | °in | ^the mightiest. It becomes 
The throned monarch | better than his crown : 
His scept're | shows the force of "temporal ^power, | 
The attribute to awe and majesty, | 
(- -) o W^^i'^iii ^^*^ sit the dread and °fear | of kings. 
But mercy || is a°bove (/) this sceptred sway, | 
(--) It is enthroned | in the (\) "hearts of kings, 
(/) It is an attribute to God him^lf ; 
And (\) "earthly power | doth "then ^show "likest °€r63's 
When mercy | seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice "be thy "plea, (/) consider "this, — 
That, in the course of justice, | ^none of us | 
( — ) Should see salvation. ( / ) We do pray for "mer^cy ; 
And that same prayer | doth teach us | "all | to render 
The ( \ ) °deeds of mercy. I have spoke th"us liiuch, 
(- -) To mitigate the (^-) "justice of thy plea ; 
Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice, | 
(/) Must needs give sentence "'gainst | (\) the merchant 

there. 
I pray you | let me "look upon the bond. 

[Examine a legal paper with a large seal attached; then 
proceed^ tapping the document.] 
Wiiy I this bond (\) ""is forfeit ; 
And lawfully by this | the Jew may claim | 
A pound of flesh, | to be by him cut off | 
Nearest the merchant's heart. (\) °Be merciful. 

[Hold up the bond as if about to tear it to pieces.] 
(\) "Take thrice thy money; bid me (\) "tear the bond. 

Shy. [gruff]. (- -) By my soul, I swear, 
There is no power | in the tongue of man | 
To alter me : (/) I stay "here | (/) on my "bond. 

( » ) Be-neath th as in " this." 



IMPERSONATIONS. 105 

Pw. "Why, othen, | (--) thus it is. \To Antonio, left.'X 
(__) You must prepare your bosom | for his knife. 

my. [gruff]. noble judge; (\) "excellent young 
man! 

Por. (- -) For the intent and purpose of the law | 
Hath full relation to the penalty. 

Shy. [gruff]. wise and upright judg^, | 
(- -) How much more | °elder art thou | than thy looks. 

For. Therefo're, | lay bare your bosom. 

Shy. [gruff]. Ay, his breast. [Portia looks about her.] 

Por. Are there | ^baFance here, to (/) ^weigh the flesh ? 

Shy. [gruff]. I have them ready. ^ ^ 

Por. Have by some °surge^, Shylock, on your charge, 
To °stop ^his "woiinds, | lest he do (\) °bleed to death. 

Shy. [gruff]. Is it so nominated (/) in the bond ? 

Por. It is not so ^expressed ; | but what of °that ? 
'Twere good you do °so ^much | for (\) °charity. 

Shy. [gruff]. (- -) I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 

Por. A pound [I. h. h. e.] of that same merchant's flesh ( 
is thine ; 
The °court ^awards it, | (/) and the law | doth give it. 

Shy. [gruff]. Most rightful judge ! 

Por. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast; 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shy. [gruff], A senten^ ; come, | prepare. 

Por. ( \ ) "Tarry a little ; | there is something °else. 

[Looking over the bond.] 
This bond doth give thee here, (\) °no jot of °bloo<i ; | 
The words ^ex^pressly °^ | a "pound | of flesh. 
(\) "Take then | ^thy "bond, |1 "take ^thou | thy "pound of 

flesh ; 
( — ) But, in the cutting it, | if thou dost shed 
One drop | of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice", | confiscate 
Unto the (\) "state of Venice. 



106 HELEN POTTERS 

Shy. [gruff}. Is that the law ? 

Por. (- -) Thyself shalt see the act ; 

[Cross over and take up a large hook; hold it out, and lay it 
down as you proceed with the speech, and return to the 
former position.'] 
For as thou urgest justice, | be assur'd | 
Thou shalt (\) °have justice, | more than thou desir'st. 
Therefore, | prepare thee to cut off | the flesh ; | 
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor m^e, 
But just a pound | of flesh ; if thou tak'st more, 
Or less I than a just pound, be it but so much 

[Balance the hands like scales.'] 
(- -) As makes it light or heavy, | in the substance, | 
Or the division | (/) of the twentieth part 
(/) Of one poor °scruple ; | °nay, | if the scale do turn 
(/) But in the estimation | of a °hair, — 
Thou diest | and all thy goods | are confiscate. 

[Pause and look as if waiting a mowment, b. h. h. o.] 
Why doth the Jew pause ? °Take | thy forfeiture. 

Shy. [gruff]. Give me my principal, and let me go. 

Por. (- -) Thou shalt have | °nothiiig | °but | the ^forfeiture, 
To be so taken | (/) at thy °peril, | ^Jew. 

[Pause.] Tarry, Je'w ; | 

The law | hath yet ( \ ) ^another hold on you. 
It is enacted | in the laws of Venice, 
If it be proved against an alien, | 
That by direct | or "indirect ^ attempts | 
He seek the life | of °any citizen. 
The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive, 
Shall seize one-half his goods ; the other half, 
Comes to the privy coffer | of the State ; 
And the offender's life | lies in the mercy 
Of the °duke oOnly, | 'gainst all other voice ; 
J.n °which Qpre°dicament, | I say, °thou ^stand'st. 
For it appears, by manifest proceeding, | 



IMPERSONATIONS. 107 

That, indirectly | and directly, too", | 

Thou hast contrived against the very life | 

Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurr'd 

The danger | formerly by me rehears'd. 

Down, I therefore, | and beg mercy of the duke. 

Duke \_mice\. I pardon thee thy life | before thou ask it. 
[Turn and address yourself to the other side, to the dufce.] 
For, I humbly do desire your grace of pardon ; 

I must away this night toward Padua, 

And it is meet | I presently set forth, [Bow and pass out.] 



Mrss Ellen Terry, an English actress of ability and position, won 
many friends and admirers in this country, during her recent 
engagements with Henry Irving. Her well-rounded and finished 
performances in historical drama have established her in the minds 
and affections of our people. In appearance she is tall, slender, and 
graceful ; a fair and stately blonde. As Portia she is quiet, self- 
poised, and impressive ; a truly beautiful character. 

Costume. — Black shapes and tunic, or jacket, over which is worn 
a black brocade silk doctor's robe, reaching to the floor, and open 
down the front ; a black silk cap, and low shoes ornamented with 
bright buckles ; the sleeves double, close under-sleeves, with full 
flowing sleeves over them ; a straight round collar and wrist-bands 
of white linen. 



FROM THE SDBLIME TO THE RIDICULOUS. 



I stood upon the ocean's briny shore, 

And with a fragile reed I Avrote upon the sands, 

"Agnes, I love thee ! " [Grandiloquently.] 
The mad waves rolled by and blotted out the fair impression. 

Frail reed ! cruel waves ! treacherous sands ! 

I'll trust thee no more ! (< ) but with a giant's hand 
I'll pluck from Norway's frozen shore her tallest pine, 
Dip it in Vesuvius' boiling lava, 
And on the high and burnished heavens I'll write, 

°° "Agnes, I love thee!" 
[Tamely. 1 And I would like to see any confounded wave 
wash that out. 



108 HELEN POTTEKS 



DONA SOL, 



From "Hernahi." — Victor Huao. 



A STUDY OP SARAH BERNHARDT. 



Argument. — A beautiful Spanish g-irl is accustomed to meet her lover 
clandestinely, because he is a fugitive outlaw. The king, Don 
Carlos, enamored of her charms, attempts to meet her alone to 
press his suit. By giving her lover's signal (three times clapping 
the hands) she is decoyed into the garden, where he is concealed. 
Discovering her mistake, she attempts to retreat, but he detains 
her by force ; whereupon she snatches the dagger from his girdle, 
and, by threats of self-destruction, forces him to desist. 



Act II., Scene II. — Spain. Time, evening. Dona Sol at the balcony 
windo w above ; Don Carlos in the garden below. 

Bona Sol. Est-ce vous, liernani ? 

[He claps his hands three times.] Je descends ! 

[She closes the loindow, and a moment later appears at a 
latticed door below, a lace scarf draped about her head and 
shoulders, and an antique lamp held above her head. She 
steps stealthily into the garden, peering into the darkness, 
and in a suppressed mice calls her lover's name.] 

Hernani ? [Listens, then drops her lamp.] 
Dieii ! ce n'est point son pas ! 

Don C. [throw off the mice]. Dona Sol ! 

Dona S. Ce n'est point sa wix ! ah, malheureuse ! 

Don C. C'est un amant rbi ! 

Dona S. Le roi ? 

Don C. C'est Carlos, ton esclave ! 




HELEN POTTER AS SARAH BERNHARDT 
AS DONA SOL. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 109 

Dona S. [retreating']. Au secours, Hernanil 

Bon C. Venez, vous serez reine, imperatrice I 

Dona 8. Non, c'est un leurre ; et d'ailleurs, 
Altesse, avec franchise [fast and earnest] 
S'agit-il pas de vons, | s'il faut que je le dise, 
J'aime mieux avec lui, | moii Heriiani, | mon roi, | 
Vivre errante, | en dehors du monde | et de la loi ; 
Ayant faim, | ayant"soif, | fuyant °toute I'annee; | 
Partageant jour a jour ] sa pauvre destinee, | 
Abandon, | guerre, | exil, | deuil, misere et terreur | 
Que d'etre ^im^peratrice, avec un Empereur. 

Don C. Vous viendrez. Je vous veux ! 

Dona j8. Seigneur ! oh, par pitie ! [Kneels.] Quoi ! vous etes 
Altesse ; vous etes roi ! duchesse, ou marquise, ou comtesse, 
Vous n'avez qu'a choisir ; 

Mais mon proscrit, (\) qu'a-t-il regu du ciel avare ? 
Ah [rises] vous avez Castille, | Aragon, et Navarre, | 
Et Murcie, | et Leoii, | (\) °dix royaumes encore ; | 
Et les (\) °Flamands, et °riii3.e, avec les (\) °mines d'or; 
Vous avez un empire | auquel nul (\) °roi ne touche, 
Si vaste | que °jamais le soleil | ne s'y couche ! 
Et, quandvous avez tout, | (\) °voudrez-v6us, | vo"us, °le roi, 
Me prendre, | pauv^ fille, | a lui qui n'a que moi ? 

[She falls on her knees, grasps his mantle and implores him 
to spare her.] 

Don C. Viens ! Je n'ecoute rieii ! 

Dona S. [with great energy]. °°Pour mon honneur, | 
Je ne veux °°rien de vous, que ce °°poignard, ^seigneur ! 

[In the play, she seizes the dagger from his girdle ; hut in the 
monologue, from herr own girdle, and, advancing, poises it 
to strike.] 
°Avancez, maintenant, ^faites °°un pas ! 
°Pour un pas, | je vous °°tue, | et °me ^tue I 

[Staggers hack, calling for help.] 
°°Hernahi ! °°Herna:ni ! 



110 HELEN POTTER'S 

[Exit backward. If recalled, advance slowly and in full view^ 
bow three times, to right, to left and to front; then keep 
the bent posture and retire again, facing the audience until 
quite out of sight.] 

TRANSLATION. 

Dona Sol [in the balcony]. Is it you, Hernani? [Don 
Carlos claps his hands three times, as Hernani would haw done.] 
I descend. [She closes the window and enters the garden.] 
Hernani ! Heaven ! It is not his step ! [Turns to enter 
the house.] 

Don Carlos. Dona Sol ! 

Dona S. It is not his voice. Ah, misery ! 

Don C. It is a royal lover. 

Dona S. The king ! 

Don C. It is Carlos, thy slave ! 

Dona S. [retreating]. Help, Hernani ! 

Don C. You will be queen, empress ! 

Dona S. No ! this is a decoy ; and, moreover, your 
Highness — if it is necessary for me to speak with frank- 
ness, — I would rather, with him, my Hernani, my king, 
live a wanderer, in defiance of the world and of the law, 
hungry and thirsty, fleeing all the year, partaking day by 
day of his poor destiny, abandonment, war, exile, misery 
and terror, than to be empress with an emperor. 

Don C. You will come. I will compel you ! 

Dona S. Seigneur, oh, pity me ! What ! You are great ; 
you are king ! Duchess, marchioness, or countess, you 
have only to choose. But my outlaw, Avhat has he received 
from Heaven ? And you have Castile, Aragon, and Navarre, 
and Murcie, and Lyons ; ten kingdoms beside ; and Flanders, 
and India, with mines of gold. You have an empire so 
vast that the sun never sets upon it ; and when you have 
all, would you, the King, take me, a poor girl, from him 
who has nothing but me ? 

Don C* Come ! I listen to nothing. 



. IMPERSONATIONS. Ill 

Dona S. For my honor I will have nothing from you, 
but this dagger ! \_She snatches the dagger.'] Advance now ! 
Take one step ! [He recoils, then advances.] Advance one 
step, and I will kill you and kill myself! [Turns and cries 
aloud.] Hernani ! Hernani ! 



Sarah Bernhardt, the world-renowned French actress, was born 
in Amsterdam, about 1847. Her father was French and her mother 
Dutch, both of the Hebrew faith. She was educated to her profession 
in the National Dramatic School at Paris. Of slig-ht fig-ai^e and lithe 
action, her style is subtle rather than strong". Her gliding- walk and 
undulating- motion present the chara-cteristics of the panther rather 
than the lion, never statuesque, but insinuating- ; seeming dangerous 
to approach. Her voice is clear and silvery, and words drop from 
her lips like liquid pearls. "When recalled by the audience, she 
responds with a series of unique bows, compound curves, somewhat 
like a fig-ure eig-ht ; beginning- at the centre, or crossing of the loops, 
she bends forward, and rotates the head in an under sweep to the 
right, making one loop of the figure eight, and, reversing, forms the 
other loop. In this bent position, she i-emains swaying gently right 
and left, the shoulders, arms and neck being in a limp or relaxed 
condition, until the curtain falls. In case of delay, she repeats the 
compound bow in smaller circles, or loops. Her gestures are easy 
and natural, sometimes languid, as if it were easy and pleasant to live, 
yet life was of little moment, and wearied her. 

Costume and Rendition. — Spanish. A loose robe en train, high 
heeled satin slippers, a long white Spanish lace scarf, a dagger 
(concealed) and an antique lamp, having a heavy wick saturated with 
alcohol. 

The voice should change for the two characters ; the one silvery 
and high, the other, low and heavy, and disguised so as to appear to 
come from another person near you. 



TWO GOOD POINTS, 



" Your aunt is coming, daughter dear, and I expect that you 
Will always give her while she's here respect, as is her due. 

" A trifle deaf she is, you know ; near-sighted, too, I think ; 
But such defects with age must grow, and youth at them 
should wink." 

" I'm sure I'll like her very much ;" joy filled the maiden's 

tone. 
" My aunt, I'm sure, will make me such a lovely chaperon !" 



112 HELEN POTTEKS 



CLEOPATRA. 



A Study from " Antony and Cleopatra."— Shakespeabb. 



Argument. — Cleopatra, queen of Egypt, was driven from her throne, 
but re-established by Julius Caesar, B. C. 47. Antony (triumvir of 
Rome, after the death of Julius Csesar), captivated by her, repudia- 
ted his wife, to live with the fascinating Egyptian. After the battle 
of Actium, they were taken captive, and, with the spoils of war, 
were likely to suffer the humiliation and disgrace of being publicly 
exhibited in a triumphal march to Rome. To avoid this, and other 
indignities which might follow, he falls upon his sword and expires, 
and she ends her life by placing a poisonous asp to her bosom. 



Act v.. Scene II. 

Cleopatra [enter speaking]. Now, Iras, what thinkst thou ? 
Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shalt be shown 
In Rome, | as well as I ; mechanic slaves 
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, | shall 
Uplift us I to the view^ ; in their thick breaths, 
Rank of gross diet, | shall we be enclolided, 
And fore'd | to drink their vapour. 

Voice. The gods forbid ! 

Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certam, Iras. Saucy lictofs 
Will catch at us | like wantons ; and scald rhymers 
Ballad us | out o' tune ; the quick comedians | 
Extemporally will stage us, | and present 
Our Alexandrian revels ; Antony- 
Shall be brought drunken forth, | and I shall see 
Some squeaking Cleopatra | b"oy my greatness. 

Voice. the good gods ! 

Cleo. Nay, that is certain. [Turn about.] Now, Char- 
mian, — 

[Enter Charmian.] 
(^ °Show me, my women, | like a °queen. Go fetch 
My best attires ; | I am again | for Cydnus, 
To meet Mark Antony : Sirrah, Irlis, go. 
^Now, noble Charmian, we'll despatch °indeed : 




HELEN POTTER A:^ CLEOPATRA. 



IMPERSONATIONS, 113 

And, when thou hast done tlm chafe, | I'll give thee leave 
To play I till doomsday. °Bring our crown | and^ll. 
(\) ° Wherefore's this noise ? 

[Enter one of the Guard.] 

Guard [disg. voice.] Here is a rural fellow 
That will not be denied your highness' presence ; 
He brings you tigs. 

Cleo. (\) °Let him come | °in: ^How poor an instru- 
ment [Exit Guard.] 
^May do a noble de^d! (\)°he brings me "liberty. 
(/) My resolution's °piac'd, and I have "nothing 
Of wom^ in me. Now from head to "foot | 
J. am marble-constant ; now the fleeting moon | 
(/) qNo planet is | of mine. 

[Re-enter Guard, with a clown bringing! a basket. Step for- 
ward and speak, as if some one entered ; sigh.] 
Ah ! Hast thou the pretty worm of (/) ^Nilus there, | 
That kills and pains not ? 

Voice. Truly I have. 

Cleo. Remember' st thou any (/) that have died °on't? 

Voice. Very many. 

[Reach out, take something from the flower- stand, smile, and 
motion him to go.] 

Cleo. Get thee hen"ce ; farewell. 

[Watch him out, then turn to Iras, the maid, who is supposed 
to be on the other side of you. ( ' )] 

Cleo. Give me my rote, | r)ut on my crown ; ( ^ ) I have 
Immortal longings in me. No'w no more, 
The juice of Egypt's grape | shall moist this lip. (^) 
Quick, good Iras ; quick, [asp.] Methinks I hear 
"Antony call ; I see him "rouse himself 
To "praise my noble act ; I hear him mock | 

( M In absence of a maid, have the cloak and crown near by, and put them 
on, a? you proceed. 
( 2 ) Take up the robe and put it on. 
i 3 ) Put on the crown. 



114 HELEN POTTER'S 

The luck of Csesar, which the gods give men 

To excuse their after | °wrath. Husband, I come : (*) 

Now to that name | my °courage | ^prove my title I 

I am fire and air ; | my other elements 

(^^) qI ^iv^ t^ baser life. °8o; — have you done ? 

°Come, othen, | and take the last warmth of my lips. 

^Fare^^well, ^kind Charmian ; "IraTs, olong fare°well. 

(^) \Ki88 them.'] 
Come, mortal wretch, [to the asp] 
With thy sharp teeth | this knot intrinsicate (*) 
Of life I at once untie ; poor venomous fool, 
Be angry, and despatch. 

Char. [disg. «.] eastern star ! 

Cleo. ^Pea~ce, °peace ! (') 
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast, 
That sucks the nurse asleep ? 

{p.) As sweet as balm, | as soft as air, | as gentle — 
{') fi °Antony ! °Antony ! 

( < ) Clasp liands upon the breast, witli eyes to heaven. 

( 5 ) stoop and kiss one of the maids, supposed to be kneeling before you ; do 
this by putting down your hand, as if upon a iiead, bending forward, and let- 
ting your head rise and fail gently as if touching the forehead with your lips. 

(6) Put the asp, or its substitute, into the bosom. Stand in heroic attitude, 
then sit upon the couch and gently recline. Be sui-e that the di-aperies fall 
artistically about you. 

( 7 ) Softly, witli the hand raised as if to say •' hush ! " 

( 8 ) Pause, rising upon the elbow, and call "Antony, Antony," then fall back 
and expire. 



Costume.— The costume for Cleoimtra may be as g-orgeous as your 
purse will allow ; in Egyptian style, of course. FJesh-colored hose, 
gilt sandals, armlets, bracelets, necklace, croNvn, large ear pendants, 
and a coin head-dress (a covering made to fit the head and fall down 
to the shoulders, of gilt coins chained together ; the front showing a 
row of them across the middle of the foi-ehead, a most becoming and 
beautiful head-dress) ; a fall of long dark hair underneath to show 
off the coin by contrast, and a half open di-ess and embroidered cloak, 
i. e., open half way to the knee on the left side. The cloak is fastened 
by circular gilt ornaments over each breast; the front and entire 
body is of cloth of gold, giving the appearance of a hammered metal 
cuirass, extending below the waist-line. A tiger skin with head 
complete thrown over the couch, adds to the effect. The make-up 
should serve to enhance your good points, and make you as beautiful 
as possible. 



IMPERSONA TIONS, 



115 



SPEECH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 



AT THE DEDICATION OF THE NATIONAL CEMETERY, GETTYS- 
BURG, NOVEMBER 19, 1863. 




FOURSCORE and 
seven years ago, 
our fathers brought 
forth on this conti- 
nent a new nation, 
conceived in liber- 
ty, and dedicated 
to the proposition 
that all men are 
created equal. 
Now we are en- 
gaged in a great 
civil war, testing 
whether that na- 
tion or any nation, 
so conceived and 
so dedicated, can 
long endure. We 
are met on a great 
battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a por- 
tion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here 
gave their lives that the nation might live. It is alto- 
gether fitting and proper that we should do this. 

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot 
consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, 
living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, 
far above our poor power to add or detract. 



116 HELEN POTTER'S 

The world will little note nor long remember what we say- 
here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for 
us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished 
work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly 
advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the 
great task remaining before us ; that from these honored 
dead, we take increased devotion to that cause for which 
they gave the last full measure of devotion ; that we here 
highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain ; 
that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of free- 
dom ; and that government of the people, by the people 
and for the peoj^le, shall not x^erish from the earth. 



Abraham Lincoln (Link^'on), the sixteenth President of the United 
States, was born in Hardin county, Kentucky, February 12, 1809, 
and died at the hands of an assassin April 15, 1865. His ancestors 
were of English descent. September 22, 1862, he issued the Procla- 
mation of Emancipation, in which it was declared that on the first 
day of January, 1863, "all persons held as slaves within any state, 
or designated part of a state, the people whereof shall then be in 
rebellion against the United States, shall be then, thenceforward and 
forever free ; and the Executive of the United States, including the 
military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the 
freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to rej)ress such 
persons in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom." 



Introduction to Lincoln's Speech at Gettysburg. 

** On the 19th of November, 1863, the valley roads swarmed with thou- 
sands whose feet were pressing to the Cemetery Hill. Four months 
had not obliterated from the slopes of Round Top and the banks of 
the creek the traces of that terrible battle, to whose sacred memory 
these crowds came to do honor. America's greatest orator, Edward 
Everett, laid the burning woi-ds of his eloquence on the altar of 
dedication ; and the solemn strains of a funeral dirge wei'e borne on 
the air to the east and the west, bathing with their melting sori-ow 
every hallowed spot where blood had been spilled. With tears, men 
gazed on the trampled and levelled graves and their shattered stones, 
and knelt uncovered, while in fervent prayer the blood-stained earth 
was reverently given bade to God, for the free burial of His great and 
glorious army of martyrs. 

"As Mr. Everett closed his eulogium, President Lincoln rose upon 
the platform, with intensest emotion beaming from every feature of 
his speaking coimtenance. Twelve hundred patriot graves, in tiers 
of crescent shape, nearly encircled him. Solemnly his eye glanced 



IMPERSONATIONS, 117 

over the long- outstretched crests, on which had lately raged the storm 
of battle, and then turned to the audience."— -46&ot's •* History of 
Civil War in AmeHca." 

An eyewitness adds : 

"A fresh tide of feeling struggled in that great warm heart ; the 
figure straightened taller than before, and, with a strong though 
tremulous voice, the President uttered the first sentence of his terse 
and unsurpassed address. The surrounding tens of thousands caught 
its sentiment, and rolled out their thunders of api:)lause. In fuller 
tone came another great thought, and another i-esponse. Thus at 
each period, until that sentence was reached whose emphasis those 
who listened can never forget. 

" It seemed as the actual offering of himself and that vast concourse 
of people, and, indeed, the millions over whom he presides, a sacrifice 
on the altar of country, of duty, of God. Every heart realized it as 
a solemn sincerity. But in none did it appear so personal, so sincere, 
as in the earnest and devoted chief magistrate who was addressing 
us." 

The next day Edward Everett wrote to the President : " I should 
be glad if I could flatter myself that I came as near to the central 
idea of the occasion in two hom-s, as you did in two minutes." 

Note. — When about to recite this touching brief speech, if suitable 
as to place and time, give the audience an idea of the matter as herein 
stated, in order to bring all minds into unison and sympathy with the 
subject. 

I TOLD YOU SO. 



Why did you chide so bitterly, 

Your voice and eyes so full of woe ? 
You might have known how it would be ; 
I told you so ! 

Ah, call me cruel if you will, 

Tis what I should expect, I know ; 
I beg you to remember still, 
I told you so ! 

If you will love me to despair 

It is no fault of mine, you know ; 
I call it quite your own affair — 
I told you so ! 

And yet, why should you look so sad ? 

Why should you take your hat and go ? 
You know I love you, foolish lad — 
I told you so ! 



118 HELEN P0T2ERS 



THE NEGRO BOATMAN'S SONG 



UPON NEWS OF THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION. 



Sung while " The tent-lights glimmer on the land, 

The ship-lights on the sea." — IVJiittieVr 



Oh, praise and tanks ! De Lord He come 

To set de people free ; 
And massa tink it day ob doom, 

And we | oh jubilee. 
(/) De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves, | 

He jus' as 'trong as den; 
(- -) He say de word : | (/) We las' night slaves; 

^To-day | de Lord's free \ men. 

Chorus. 
( ' ) De yam will grow, de cotton blow, 

We'll hab de rice an' corn ; 
So nebber you fear, if nebber you hear, 

De driver | blow his horn. 

Old massa on he trabbles gone ; 

(- -) He leab de Ian' behind ; 
(/) De Lord's breff blow him °furder on, 

^Like corn shuck in de wind. 
(/) We own de hoe, (\) we own de plow, 

(/) We own de ban's dat °hold; 
(- -) We sell de pig, we sell de cow. 

But nebber chile I be sold.— Choi'us. 



( » ) Keep the rhythmical accent, with a thought of dancing. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 119 

(- -) °We pray de Lord ; ^He gib us signs, 

Dat °someQday | (\) we hQ free ; 
( — ) De iiorf wind tell it to de pines, 

De wild duck | to de sea. 
We tink it | when de church hells ring, 

We (\) dream it | ^in de dream ; 
De °rice-bird \ {/) mean it when he sing, 

De eagle | when he scream. — Chorus. 

We know de promise nebber fail 

And (\) nebber lie de word; 
So like de 'postle's in de jail, 

We waited for de Lord. 
And now | He open ebery door 

(■^^^) An' °trow away de key ; 
He tink we lub Him so before, 

We lub Him better \ free. — Chorus. 



JUBILEE SOHG 



When Israel was in Egypt's land. 

Let my people go ! 
Oppressed so hard they could not stand. 

Let my people go ! 

Go down, Moses, way down into Eg^'-pt's land, 
Tell old Pharaoh to let my people go ! 

Thus saith the Lord, bold Moses said. 

Let my people go ! 
If not I'll smite your first-born dead. 

Let my people go ! 

Gro down, Moses, etc. 



120 



HELEN POTTERS 



EXTRACT FROM A SERMON OH LINCOLN 



BY REV. HENRY WARD BEECHER. 



Delivered when the catafalque bearing the remains of Abraham 
Lincoln was en route to Illinois, April, 1865. 



THE nation rises up 
at every stage of his 
coming; cities and 
states are as pall- 
bearers, I and the 
cannon beats the 
hours in solemn 
progression ; dead, 
dead, dead, he yet 
speaketh. Is 
Washington dead, 
is Hampden dead ? 
Is any man | that 
ever was fit to live | 
dead ? Disenthral- 
led from the flesh, 
and risen to the 
unobstructed sphere 
where passion never comes, he begins his illimitable work. 
His life is now grafted upon the Infinite, | and will be fruit- 
ful I as no earthly life can be. Pass on ! | Four years ago, oh, 
Illinois ! | we took from your midst an untried man from 
among the people ! Behold, we returii him to you, | a 
mighty conqueror ; | not thiiie any moiFe | but the nation's ; 
not oiifs, but the world's. Give him place, | oh, ye prairies \ 




IMPERSONATIONS. 121 

In the midst of this great continent | his dust shall rest, 
a sacred treasure to myriads, | who shall pilgrim to that 
shrine to kindle anew their patriotism ! Ye winH.s, that 
move over the mighty spaces of the west, chant his requie"m I 
Ye peo'ple, behold the marty?, whose drops of blood, like 
so many articulate words, | plead iov fidelity, \ for IoajS, | for 

LIBERTY ! 



Henry "Ward Beecher, the famous American preacher, was born 
at Litchfield, Connecticut, June 24, 1813, and died of cerebral apo- 
plexy, in Brooklyn, N. Y., March 8, 1887. He was a man of medium 
height and full fig-ure ; his complexion florid, his hair rather long-, and 
his face clean shaven,; his eyes, a blue-gray, drooped in a marked 
degree at the outer angles ; and his ample, bow-shaped mouth ex- 
pressed great power and determination. 

His voice was mellow and full ; a deep baritone, with a sort of 
tremulo peculiar to himself ; a tremulo both indescribable and inimi- 
table, but expressive of deep feeling and of human sympathy. His 
inflections were American rather than English in type, the falling 
inflections predominating. As a speaker he was like one inspired. 
His sentences flowed easily, in an unbroken stream of eloquence ; 
he never halted for a word, or for a better word. He never appeared 
solicitous as to his pronunciation, or rhetoric, or gesture ; he spoke 
right on and on, as if the mighty truths, surging within him, miist be 
born again in other minds, then and there. As if overwhelmed with 
the importance of his convictions, he sent them forth in glowing 
pictures, by metaphor, parable and story, with such power and force 
that they burned into the very souls of his hearers and became living 
entities forever. 

His manner was simple, and free from the conceit and aff'ectation 
usual to speakers of marked popularity. He never said " you 
sinners," but **v/e sinners;" and this generous, humane impulse 
endeared him to a multitude of people other than his church, which 
numbered six thousand members. No man of this century was more 
eloquent, or more universally beloved than was this great reformer 
and inspired preacher. Speak his words with a deep sentiment of 
patriotism, and with feeling born of sorrow and hope — sorrow for the 
dead hero, and hope for the nation. 

Dress. — Frock coat and vest (black), white tuna down collar, and 
long gray hair brushed behind the ears. 



122 



HELEN POTTER'S 



A YISIOH OF WAR 



BY ROBERT INGERSOLL. 



Extract from a speech delivered at the Soldiers' Reunion, Indian- 
apolis, September 21, 1876. 



THE past rises before me like a 
dream. Again we are in the 
great struggle for national life. 
We hear the sounds of prepara- 
tion — the music of boisterous 
drums, the silver notes of heroic 
bugles. We see thousands of 
assemblages, and hear the ap- 
peal of orators. We see the paje 
cheeks of the women, and the 
flushed faces of the men ; and 
^ in these assemblages we see all 
^ the dead whose dust we have 
covered with flowers. We lose 
sight of them no more. 
We are with them when they enlist in the great army of 
freedom. We see them part with those they love. Some 
are walking for the last time in quiet woody places, with 
maidens they adore, to hear the whispering^s and the sweet 
vows of eternal love as they lingeringly part forever. Others 
are bending over cradles, kissing babes that are asleep. 
Some are receiving the blessings of old men. Some are 
parting with mothers', who hold them and press them to 
their hearts, ag'ain and agam, || and say nothing. Kisses 
and tears and kiss'es. Divine mingling of agony and love. 




IMPERSONATIONS. 123 

And some | are talking ^Yith wives and endeavoring with 
brave w6r3.s, spoken in the old tones, to drive from their 
hearts the awful fear. We see them part. We see the wife 
standing in the door with the babe in her arms, standing 
in the sunlight sobbing ; at the turn of the road a hand 
waves, she answers by holding high in her living arms the 
child — and he is golTe | forever. 

We see them all as they march proudly a^vay, under the 
flaunting flags, keeping time to the grand wild music of 
Avar, marching down the streets of the great cities', through 
the towns and across the prairies, do\vn to the fields of glory, 
to do and to die for the " eternal right." We go with them, 
one and^ll ; we are by their side on all the gory fields, in 
all the hospitals of pant, on all the weary marches; we 
stand guard with them in the wild storm and under the 
quiet stars ; we are with them in ravines running with 
blood ; and in the furrows of old fields. We are with them 
between contending hosts, unable to move, wild with thirst, 
the life ebbing slowly away among the withered leaves. 
We see them pierced by balls and torn with shells, in the 
breaches, by forts, and in the whirlwind of the charge 
where men become iron with nerves of steeL We are with 
them in the prisons of hatred and famine, but human speech 
can never tell what they endured. We are at hoine when 
the news coines that they are dead. We see the maiden in 
the shadow of her first sorrow ; we see the silver head of 
the old nian bowed with his last grief. 

The past rises before us, and we see four millions of 
human beings governed by the lash ; we see them bound 
hand and foot, we hear the stroke of cruel whips, and we 
see the hounds tracking wonien through tangled swanips ; 
we see babes sold from the breasts of mothers; cruelty 
unspeakable, outrage infinite ! Four million bodies in 
chains ; four million souls in fetters. All the sacred rela- 
tions of AviJe, moth^, father, child, trampled beneath the 



124 HELEN POTTER'S 

brutal feet of MigKt ; and all this was done under our own 
beautiful banner of the free. 

The past rises before us, and we hear the war, the shriek 
of bursting shell, the broken fetters fall. These heroes died. 
We look : instead of slaves we see naen and women and 
childferi. The wand of progress touches the auction-block, 
the slave-pen, the whipping-post, and we see homes, and 
firesides, and school-houses, and boo^ ; and where all was 
want, and crime, and cruel'Ey, and fear, we see the faces of 

the FREE. 

The heroes are dead. They died for liberty'; they died 
for us ; they are at rest. They sleep in the land they made 
free; under the flag they rendered stainless; under the 
solemn pines, the sad hemlock, the tearful willows, and 
the embracing vines. They sleep beneath the shadows of 
the clouSs, careless alike of sunshine or of storm, each in 
the windowless palace of rest. Earth may run red with 
other wars, they are at peace. In the midst of battle, in 
the roar of conflict, they found the serenity of death. I 
have one sentiment for soldiers living and dea:d, 
'' Cheers for the livifig, tears for the dead! " 

A Series of Tableaux Suggesting Others. 

This wonderful specimen of eloquence is capable of a great number 
of powerful tableaux, picturing- the horroi's of war and the g-rateful 
blessing of arbitration and peace. 

(1) *' Farewell ! " — the lovers ; (2) " Good-bye ! " — wife and babes; 
(3) *' The Silent Parting," — parents and sons ; (4) " The Departure," — 
raw recruits ; (5) " Before the Battle,"— inline ; (6) ''After the Battle," 
— the retreat; (7) "Stretchers and Lanterns," — the hospital; (8) 
** Hung-ry and Naked," — the prison ; (9) "Alone by the Forest," — the 
picket ; (10) " News at Home," — reading the lists ; (11) " The War is 
Over," — the regiment's return ; (12) "Decoration Day." 




HELEN POTTER AS LAWRENCE BARRETT 
AS CASSIUS. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 125 



CASSIUS TO BRDTDS 



From "Julius C^dAR."— Shakespeare. 



A STUDY OF LAWRENCE BARRETT. 



Argument. — Cassius, instigator of the conspiracy against Julius Caesar, 
incites Brutus to the assassination of the emperor by such argu- 
ments as are found in the text below ; the avowed purpose being to 
freedom, and a better condition of the people. 



Act L, Scene II. 
Cassius. ( ' ) Well, ^hon^or | is the subject | of my (")sto-ry. 
I cannot | tell what you | and (\)°other men | 
(/) Think of this life ; but, | for my single °seif, 
J. had as lief not °S8; \ ^as live to be 
In awe | of such a thing | as I | Qmy°self. 
( — ) I was ^born | as ^free as ^Cae^saJ ; | ^so were °you : 
(--) We both have °fed ^as well ; | and we can both 
Endure the winter's (') °cold, || ^as well | as fie : || 
(/) For once, | upon a raw | and gusty day, | 
(stac.) The troubled Tyber | chafing with her shores, 
Caesar said to me, (--) " °Dar'st thou, Cassius, | now, 
Leap in | with me \ into this angry flood, | 
And svfim \ to yonder point ?"(--) °Upon the word 
qAc (\) °coutred as I °was, | I °plungQed iii^ | 
(/) And bade him \ °MIJlO^ \ {/) ^So, indeed, | °he did. 
The torrent rroafed ; and we did buffet it 
With lus-ty sin-news, | (- -) throwing it aside | 
And stemming it | with hearts of (\) °con | troversy. 

(1 ) All through the text run sweeping inflections, up or down, wherever 
indicated and hold the " 1." 

(3) A crescendo over a syllable with a hyphen after it means to hold that 
syllable, and speak the next quickly. 

( 3 ) An octave. 



126 HELEN POTTER'S 

But ere we could arrive | the point proposed, 

Caesar cried : (*) " Help me, Cassius, \ or I °smk" 

I I as ^ne-as, | our great (\) "ancestor, | 

Did I from the flames of Troy, | upon his shoulder | 

(/) The old Anchises °bear, (--) so, | from the waves of 

Ty-ber, | 
( — ) Did I I ^this I ° tired || °Cce^sar. And °this ^man | 
Is qUoww I become a °gd'd ; and Cassius | is 
A (\)°wretched creature, | and must bend his "bod^y^/ | 
If "Cae^sarr j carelessly but (\) °nod on him. 
He had a (\) °fever | (--) when he was in Spain, 
And when?* the fit was qOu °him | I did mark | 
(/) How he did °shafe: | 'tis true, \(/) this god | did 

shake ; 
{gut) His coward lips | did | from their (\) "col^or ^fly ; | 
And that same °eye || whose ben?2d doth awe (/) the 

worlZd, I 
(/) Did lose his "lus^tre : || I did hear him "gr'oanw. 
°Ay, I and that (\) °to?z^ue of his, | that bade the 

Romans 
(\)°Markhim | ( — ) and write his speeches | in their books, 
°Alas, I it cried | (^) " "Gim me some ° drink (\) Titinius ! " 

(M!)n ^ ^ ^ _ 

(/) As a sick °girrU. Ye gods | it doth ^a°maze ^me, || 

A manw of such a (\) °feeble "tempers | should 

So (\) °get the start | of the Qma°jeSotic oWorlZd | (') 

( — ) oAnd bear the palm | ^a°lone. (^) 

[Halt from angry pacing, and speak to Brutus, with voice of 

argument.'] 
Why, man?2 | he doth bestride the narrow worUd | 
(/) Like a co°loSoSus ; | and we, petty menw, | 

( *) Iliofh, li^lit voice. 
( * ) llis'li, light voice. 

(« ) " in ; " add this exclamation of dis.srust, but ilo not inspire from "Alas " 
to " girl," as a break of a second even spoils the elVect. 
( "< ) Run up an octave on " world," holding the " 1." 
( 8 ) Pace up and down. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 127 

(- -) Walk under his huge legs, | aud peep a°b6ut, | 
(/) To find ourselves | Qdis°hon?2orable | ^graves. 
^Approach close to Brutus^ and, with toga wrapped across to 

opposite shoulder, speak confidentially backward to him.] 
^Menn I at somwetimme | ^are mas-ters | of their fates : 
The °fault, | dear Bm-tus, | is (/)^not in our °stars, | (') 
^But in QOur°selves, ( '° ) || ^that we are underlings. 
°Brutus I and ^Caesar : j ^What should be in that | °Caesar ? 
Why should °that ^name \ {/) be sounded | more than 

°yours ? 
o Write them to°gether, | „yours is as fair a (/) name : 
°Sound them, | (/) it doth become the mouth | ^as well; 
( '' )° Weigh theni, | °it is as Qheav°y'; °conjure with them, | 
C) ^Brutus will start a spirit | (/) as soon as /Cae^sar. 
(gut.) l^oww, I in the name of °all the gods at once, | 
(gut.) °Upon what °7neat \\ doth this our °Caesar Jeed, 
^That he is grown | so | great? || (^^) °Age, | ^thou art 

shamed ; 
(^*)°Romme, | (/)othou hast lost the °breed | „of °no„ble 

^bloods ! 
(/) When went there by an age, \ (/) since the great 

flowed, I ^ 

^But it was famwed | with more than with °onne ^man ! 
°When72 I could they say till °now, | that talked of 

°Rom7?re, 
{^^) ^That her wide walks enncompassed but °onwe 



man 



( ^^^) Oh ! you and I | have heard our fathers oSay, | 
(/) There was a Brutus once, \ (gut.) °t\mt would have 
brooked 



( 9 ) Hand to the sky. 

( 10 ) Strike the breast on " selves." 

( 11 ) Balance with the hands. 

(12) R. H. V. descend oblique. 

( 13 ) R. H. aloft, descend on " shamed." 

( 1* ) B H. horizontal oblique, palms up Reverse palms at " lost," and move 
to H.; ex. on " breed." 
( 15 ) B. H. extended ; change R. H. front, L. H. to bosom, or oh sword hilt. 



128 HELEN POTTER'S 

The eternal °^dev-il \\ °°to keep his state in Romwe | 
,As°°eas,i°ly|Uasa' ,,ki^!('«) 

[Exit.'] 

( 16 ) R. H. aloft on " devil " (clinched hand), bring it down on " easily," and 
push it from you (with palm vertical) on " king." March off with long strides, 
in a state of intense excitement. 

Note.— Where extra "I's," "m's," etc., are added, and printed in italics, hold 
them long enough to sound them separately, although they are produced as 
one continuous sound. 



Lawrence Barrett, an American actor of well-deserved populai-ity, 
was born in Paterson, New Jersey, April 4, 1838. He is to Cassius 
what Edwin Booth. is to Hamlet, an ideal. It is a question whether 
they ever have been or ever can be surpassed. Entirely devoted to 
his profession, he has won his way, not at abound, but by steady, per- 
sistent effort, to the high position he now occupies. Industrious, stu- 
dious, conscientious and reliable, he is esteemed equally as a man 
and as an artist. 

His manner on the stage is dignified and foi'ceful, perhaps severe, 
but, strictly speaking, hardly graceful ; a superior, intelligent Ro- 
man, but never a Greek. Helmet and shield are borne by him as if 
he had been bred and nurtured in the old days of Roman glory ; as 
if he wotdd rather sleep on his sword in camp, than at home in bed ; 
hence his Cassius is superb. Pride, ambition and scorn ever clank in 
his mailed tread. When he plants his feet and sways from side to 
side, in an ague of excitement, you are sure, if near enough, you 
could feel his burning breath hot upon your cheek. 

His peculiarities are : Holding final consonants ; marked, sudden 
transitions in pitch, as indicated in the text ; and cai-iying long pas- 
sages without pausing to breathe. The latter feature adds greatly to 
the intensity of his climaxes, and gives the appearance of choleric 
passion. 

Costume. — A Roman toga, white, with red border, reaching to the 
feet ; sandal-boots which lace up in front, leaving the toes free [see 
chapter on Foot-Gear] ; a wig of short, crisp gi-ay hair, and no beard 
whatever. The make-up calls for deep-set eyes, hollow cheeks and 
pale face. To produce the effect of the "lean and hungry look" 
attributed to him by Caesar, whiten the forehead or, with flesh-coloi-ed 
wig-paint, blend on the wig across the middle of the forehead ; whiten 
the cheek-bones and the edge of the jaw ; lay a shadow of brown 
about the eyes, in the hollows of the cheeks, and down the cords of 
the bare neck. If the arms are round and fair, follow and outline 
the muscles, leaving the swell white or light in color, like the fore- 
head. Some complexions are dark enough for the shadows, and only 
need the high lights, leaving the rest of the face clean. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 129 



BRUTUS'S ADDRESS. 



From " Julius C^sar." — Shakespeare. 



A STUDY OF E. L. DAVENPORT. 



Argument, — Marcus Brutus is a Roman conspirator. Having' slain 
Caesar as, in the cause of freedom, he beheved to be right, Brutus 
appears before the excited multitude to justify the act and appease 
their wrath. 



Act III., Scene II. — The Forum, after the death of Csesar. 
Brutus. Romans, | countrymen, | and lovers! || (\)°hear 
me I ^for my °cause, ^and, °°be silent, || that oyou °may 
^hear. || Believe me for mine °honor ; and have Qre°spect to 
(/) ^mine honor, | that you may Qbe°lieve. || Censure me in 
your °wisdom ; | and av/ake ( / ) your °senses, | ^that you 
may the °better | ^ judge. ( — ) If there be any in this 
assembly, | any dear friend of Csesar's, | ^to °him ^I say, | 
(/) ^that Brutus' love to Caesar | was no less | than his, 
(\) °If, then, I that friend demand | (--) °why Brutus 
rose against Caes'ar, | ^this | is my answer, | ( \ ) °Not that I 
loved I °CaeQsar °less, | ^but that I loved (/) Rome | (\) 
°more. ( — ) oHad you rather Caesar were (/) ^liv^ing, | and 
die all slav'es, | (--) than that Caesar were dead, | (/) to 
^live (\) °all I Jree °men ? ( ' ) ^^s Caesar loved °rQe, | J 
°weep ^for^ him ; ( ' ) as he was ( / ) ^fortunate, | (- -) ^I 
rejoice at it; (') ashe was valiant, | ^I °honor him: ^but, | 
°as he was Qam°bi^tious, | (--) ^I slew him. There is 
tears | for his love; °joy | ^for his (/) fortune; °°honor | 
ofor his °°valor; ^and ^^death, | (--) for his ambition. 

( ^, 2, 3 ) Begin low, and make each sentence higher than the one before. 



130 HELEN POTTERS 

(\) Who is here so base, | that would be a ( \ ) "bondsman ? 
If ally I speak; | for (/) ohim, | have 1 ^^of^fendQed. 
(--) Who is here so rucle, \{/) that would not be | oa (\) 
°Roman? °If (/) „any, | speak; | Jor °him | (--) ^have I 
offended. (\) °Who is here so vile (') | that will not (\) 
°love his country ? °If any, | ^speak ; (- -) for him | have I 
(\) ^offended. || ^I °pause | ^for a reply. 

(4 ) Hold " 1 " and run up the scale in tremor, or tremulous voice. 



Edward Loomis Davenport, an American actor of marked ability 
was born in Boston, Nov. 15, 1814, and died at Canton, Pa., Sept. 1, 
1877. Some one has said : '* Had he not been so good, he had been a 
great actor," for he did many things so admirably, that he identified 
himself with none. He is known as the finest Brutus of the century ; 
and required little more than toga and sandals to transform him into 
a veritable Roman senator of the olden time. Sober and thoughtful, 
he carried himself with dignity and grace ; and, best of all, he was 
never guilty of that common yet unpardonable fault of playing to the 
audience. He confined himself to the stage and to the peoijle on the 
stage, as all great actors do. 

To copy his Brutus you must walk well ; take long, measured steps, 
and never hurry, or become excited. That becomes Cassius, but not 
Brutus. Keep before you the object he had in addressing the people, 
viz., to j'econcile them to the death of Caesar. Be earnest, concilia- 
tory, and at the same time argumentative in tone and manner. 

Costume —(See Cassius, page 128.) A Roman toga, sandals and 
sword, and short dark hair. 



Flag of the free heart's hope and home I 

By angel hands to valor given ; 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet. 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ? 



IMPERSONATIONS. 131 

BUSSIAH SOLDIER, REST!* 



BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE. 



There was a Russian | came over the sea, 
Just when the war was raging hot, 
And his name it was | ( ' ) " Tja-lik-a-vak'-a-ree — 
Kar-in-do-brol'-i-kaun-ahn'-da-rot — 
ShiV-ka-di-ro-va — 
^) Iv'-ar-ditz-sto-va — 
San-a-lik — 
Dan-er-ik — 
Var-a-gob-hot." 

A Turk I was standing upon the shore | 
Right where the terrible Russian crossed ; 
And he cried, | " Bis-mil'lah ! I'm Ab El Kor— 
Baz'-a-rou-kil'-go-nau-tos'-go-bross — 
Get ' -f in-pr ii-va'-di — 
Kli'-ge-kos-lad'-ji — 
Gri-vi'-no — 
Bli-vi'-do— 
Jen'-i-ko-dosk' ! " 

So they stood, | like brave men, | long | and well ; | 
And they called each other || their proper names, 
Till the lockjaw | seized them, | and where they fell, 
They buried them | both ; | by the river, the beautiful 
river; the " Ir-dosh-o-la'-mes — 
Ka-la-ta-lust-chuk — 
Misch-tar-i-bust-up — 
Bul-gar-i — 
Dul-bar-i — 
Siighhar-im-ainz." 

* Recite it glibly, but not too fast. 
( M " Tja " is pronounced "yah." 
( 2 ) " iv " is pronounced "eev." 



132 



HELEN POTTERS 



PEEN ELIZABETH, 



A STUDY OF MME. ADELAIDE RISTORI. 



Argument. — Elizabeth, Queen of England, was haug-hty and impe- 
rious. She loved the Earl of Essex, and gave him a ring, saying : 
"Here, from my finger take this ring, a pledge of mercy; and 
whensoever you send it back, I swear that I will grant whatever 
boon you ask." She afterward was induced by his enemies to sign 
his death warrant, expecting to reprieve him upon the return of 
the ring. It was intercepted, until too late to save him. Her 
couriers rode in vain, whereupon she fell into a frenzy of rage, 
grief, and remorse, and, driving every one from her presence, gave 
herself up to the darkest despair. 



(p.) ( ^ ) Mofto ! ma prima che tramonti il sole | 

Mor'to ! ma pre'ma ka tra mon'te el so'la 

tuonera un altra volta il bronzo fatale. 

twon'a ra un al'tra vol'ta el bron'zo fa tal'a. 

[Revengefully.} lo ho bisogno d'avere | fra le m'^m | la 

eo 6 be zon'yo da va'ra fra la ma^ne IS 

testa del Duca di Nottingam. 

tas'ta del Dii'ca de Not'ting ham. 

(p.) Roberto non a piu ! II solo uomo che 

R6 ber't5 non a peoo ! el so'lo wo'mo ka 

[Tremulously.'] ho veramente amato, | [weeps] e sono ^o | che 

6 va rah man'ta ama'to, a so'no eo ka 



I'uccisi. [Remorsefully.] E nessuno ha detta una 

lii che'se. a nas su'n5 a dat'ta iinS 



parola per calmarmi, | tutti I'odiavano. 

paro'lii per kal mar'me, tut'te 15 de iiv'a no. 

[Proudly.] E non era degno nessuno di baciare 

a non e'l'ii dan'yo nas sii'no de ba che a'ra 



( 1 ) The pronunciation of the Italian text, as nearly as possible, is given in 
alternate lines, and smaller type. Trill tlie r's, and give double time to double 
consonants, as " ca val'lo," " tut'ti." 




ADELAIDE RISTORI. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 133 

la polvere sollevaTa del suo cavallo in 

la pol'va ra so la va'ta del suo ca val'16 en 

un giorno di battaglia. \To Bacon.] 

tin ge or'no ( 2 ) de bat tal'ya. 

[Scornfullp.] Et tu, | vile, | miserabile, | tu eri un nulla, | 

a too, vela, me sa ra'be la, tu a're un ntil'la, 

e il devi solo a Roberto, \ se sei divenuto 

a el da've so'lo a lio ber'to, sa sae de va nu'to 

qualche cosa, | a lui devi gli onori di cui 

kwal'ka co'sa, a Iwe da've lee o no're de kwe 

ti ho colmato. Egli che generoso ti ha redento 

te o kol ma'td. a'le ka gen er o's5 te a ra dan'to 

alia vergogna de tuoi debiti, | dovera contare 

al'la var gon'ya da twoe da'be te, do va'ra kon ta'ra 

su te", I e tu non Thai difeso. Era tuo 

soo ta, a too non la e de fa'zo. a'ra two 

sacro dovere disputar la di lui vita anche 

sa'kro do va'ra des'pootar la de Iwe ve'ta an'ka 

contro di me, \ si contro di me. Ricordarmi 

kon'tro de ma, se kon'tro de ma. re kor dar'me 

rirlanda da lui sottomessa, Cadice con- 

leer lan'dji da Iwe sot to mas'sa, ka'de cha kon- 

quistata in mezzo alle fiamme. Dovevi 

kwes ta'ta en mat'zo al'la fe iim'ma. do va've 

squarciare la sua corazza, | contare le sue 

sqwar che a'ra la swa kor at'za, k5n ta'ra la swa 

ferite, | offrirmele a riscatto della di lui 

fa re'ta, offrer'ma la a res kat'to dal'Ia de hve 

colpa, I dovevi lottare contro ine, | si contro 

kol'pa, do va've lot ta'ra kon'tro ma, se kon tro 
(2) "G" asin "go," 



134 HELEN PO TTER' S 

md I per il bene deli' Inghiltem. 

ma par el bana dal eeug eel tar^ra. 

Ma tu I preferisti guidare la mano dei 

ma too pra i'ar est'e gwe da'ra la ma'uo dae 

giudici quando sottoscrissefo, \ e la °mia 

jew'dS che kwan'do sot to scres'sa r5, a la mea 

quando confermai \ la fatale senten'za. 

kwau'do konfarma'e la fa ta'la san taii'za. 

Oh ! che tu sia maledettb ! | ( ^) al pari di Caino. 

5 ! ka too sea mal a dat'to ! al pa're de ka e'no. 

[Bisffustedly.] °Ysi,tieire I \ °°Ya,ttene I Will mi fai orrore ! 

vat'ta na ! vat'ta na ! too me fae or ro'ra 

[Proudly.] "UsciTe! || Uscite tutii ! \\ ^Lo VGglid!\\ 

00 she'ta ! oo she'ta ! toot'te 16 vol'3'5 ! 

[Points to the door until they all pass out.] 
[Remorsefully.] Sola! Sola! (\)in un [h&iroi'] lago di sangue! 

so la ! so la ! en oon la'go de san'gwa ! 

[With goief.] ^Sola! °Sola! ^coi remorsi, e con Dio! 

so'la ! so'la ! kc e ra mor'se, a kon De'6 ! 

[Falls upon her knees sobbing.] 



TRANSLATION. 



Burleigh. He is no more ! 

Elizabeth. Dead ! dead ! but before the sun sets the 
fatal bronze shall tell once more. I must grasp within 
mine own hands the head of the Duke of Nottingham ! 
Robert is no more ! The only man I ever really loved — 
and / have killed him ! No one said one word to appease 
my wrath — they all hated him. And yet not one of 
them was worthy to kiss the dust raised by his charger's 
hoofs on a day of battle. [To Bacon.] And you, vile, mis- 
erable wretch, you who owe all the advantages you enjoy 

( 3 ) Mill a dat'to; repeat the word twice. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 135 

to his kindness and generosity — nay even the honors / 
have conferred upon you came through his influence. Had 
he not, therefore, a sacred claim upon you for assistance in 
the hour of trial ? It was his hand that snatched you out 
of the vortex of degradation and misery into which your 
debts had dragged you. It was your duty to have opposed 
my sovereign will; yes, my will, to save his life. You 
should have reminded me of Ireland subjugated by him ; 
of the conquest of Cadiz, and its conflagi^ation. You should 
have torn off his breastplate and counted his wounds one 
by one, and offered them as ransoms, each a trophy of his 
glorious deeds, and a demand upon my clemency. You 
should have disputed my authority — anything — rather 
than sacrifice a life so valuable to the welfare of England. 
But no ! You chose rather to guide the hand that signed 
that fatal death-warrant — and — mine sealed it. May the 
curse of Cain be upon you ! Begone ! Out of my sight ! 
Begone, every one of you ! I command it ! [All retire.'] 
Alone, alone, in a lake of blood ! 

Alone with my remorse and my Qod. [^Falls upon her 
knees in great agitation.] 

Adelaide Ristori, the world-renowned Italian actress, was born in 
1826, in the small Venetian city of Cividale del Friuli. Her parents, 
Antonio Ristori and Maddelena Pomatelli, were players in a strolling- 
company, and very poor. The child was brought upon the stage in 
a basket, when she was only two months old, and began to enact 
juvenile parts when four years old. Fi-om this early beginning she 
won her way to the zenith of earthly fame, and glory ; and amidst a 
race of artists long descended, and a people hypercritical in matters 
of art, she stands to-day without a peer, the greatest living actress, 
the queen of tragedy. 

In appearance, she is of medium size, well rounded figure, and still 
beautiful. Her expression is noble, her action natural, and the spec- 
tator is swept along in full sympathy with her, in every phase of joy 
and soiTOw, hope and despair. 

Costume. — A robe of rich brocaded silk ; a full, long, plain skirt, 
worn over hoops ; a bodice pointed front and back, the top of the 
bodice made of pale pink satin, and surmounted by a large frill, then 
in vogue, and since well known as the Elizabethan collar ; a girdle 
with a chain or pendant hanging to the feet, set with precious stones ; 
a head-dress of pearls, over a light auburn wig, and slippers to 
match the dress. 

Rendition. — Breathe fast and hea\'y ; voice sometimes aspirate, 
sometimes half guttural ; hand to the heart, eyes wide open, and now 
and then turned upward in the sockets. 



136 HELEN POTTERS 



MARY STUART 



TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF ANDRE MAFFEI. 



Act III., Scene IV.— Park at Fotheringay. [Enter Mary, sister to 
Queen Elizabeth, speaking to herself.] 

Mary. Be it so ! I will even undergo this last degree of 
ignominy ! My soul discards its noble, but, alas, impoteiit 
pride ! I will seek to forget who I am, and what | I have suf- 
fered, I and will humble myself before °her | ^who has caused 
my disgrace. Yluvn to Elk., step forwardy and hold out both 
hands beseechingly J] 

(^^) ^Heaven, (/)oh, sister, has declared itself on °thy 
^sicJe", and has graced thy happy head \ {/) with the crown 
of ° victory. I worship the Deity | [kneeling'] who hath 
rendered thee | (\) so powerful; °but show thyself great | 
^and °noble ^in thy triumph, and (\) leave me | ilot | over- 
whelmed by my shame ! [Reach out both hands.] Open 
thy arms — extend in mercy to me | thy royal hanH — and 
raise me | from my fearful fall ! 

Voice. Thy place, oh, Stuart, is there ! at my feet ! 

Mary [with increased emotion and wringing the hands], 
(^s^) °0h, think on the vicissitudes of (\) °all things 
human ! ^There is a God above who punisheth pride ! 
°Resp"ect ^oh, Queen, the Providence who now doth prostrate 
me I at thy feet ! [Shoulders and eyes upioard, hands clasped 
to heart.] (-^) °0h, God of Heaven ! (— ) (q.) °Do not 
show thyself insensible and pitiless as the rock to which 
the drowning- man, with failing breath and outstretched 
arms, endeavors to cling! [Lean fonoard, swaying in 
circles.] My life, my entire destiny, depend upon my words 
^and the power of my tears I Inspire my heart — (\) teach 



IMPERSONATIONS, 137 

me to move, | to touch thine owii ! [Shrink back and shiver. 
Voice tremulous and full of tears.] Thou turuest such icy 
looks upon me, that my soul doth sink within me ; my 
grief parch^ my lips, and a cold shudder renders my en- 
treaties mute. [Rises.] 

Voice [haughtily and coldly]. What | wouldst thou (\) 
say to me ? 

Mary. How can I express myself, | how shall I so choose 
my °every word that it may penetrate, without irritating 
thy heart ? Aid Thou my lips, oh, God of mercy, and banish 
from them everything that may offend my sister ! I cannot 
relate to thee my woes, without appearing | to accuse thee, \ 
and this is not my wish. Toward me | thou hast been 
neither merciful | nor just. I am thine °equal, | and yet 
thou hast made a (\) prisoner of me ! A suppliant and a 
fugitive I I turned to thee for aid ; and thou, trampling on 
the rights of nations and of hospitality, hast immured me 
ill a living tomb ! Thou hast cruelly deprived me of my 
servants and my faithful friends ; thou hast abandoned me 
to the most shameful need, and, finally, exposed me to the 
ignominy of a trial ! ^But no more | of the past. We are 
new °fa'ce to face ! Display thy heart ! °Tell me the crimes 
of which I am accused. Ah ! wherefore didst thou not 
grant me this friendly audience | when I so eagerly desired 
to see thee ? It would have spared me °years of mise'ry ; and 
this sad, painful interview | ^would never have occurred | 
in this abode of gloom and horror ! 

Voice. The blow Avas aimed at my head, but 'tis on thine 
that it will fall. 

Mary. I am in the hand of Go^! but thou wilt not 
exceed thy power by committing so atrociouTs a deed ! 

Voice. No ! there can be no friendship with a race of 
vipers ! 

Mary [slowly]. Are these thy dark suspicions ? To 
thine eyes, then, I have ever seemed a stranger and an 



138 HELEN PO TTER S 

enemy. If thou hadst but recognized me as heiress to thy 
throne, as is my lawful right — love, friendship, would have 
made of me | thy sister | ^and thy friend ! 

Voice. Heiress to my throiie ? Insidious treachery ! 

Mary. Reign on | in peace ! I renounce all right unto 
thy sceptre ! The wings of my ambition have long drooped, 
and greatness has no longer charms for me ! 'Tis thou | 
who hast it ^11 ! I am now but the shade of Mary Stuart ! 
My pristine ardor has been subdued by the ignominy of 
my chains ! Thou hast now put my spirit to its last test ! 
Thou hast nipped my existence in its bud ! Now, liold ! 
Pronounce those magnanimous Avords for w^hich thou earnest 
hither — for I will not believe that thou art come to enjoy 
the °base delight (/) of insulting thy ^victim! (\) Pro- 
nounce the words so longed for, and say, " Mary, thou art 
free ! Till now thou has only known my power ; thou slialt 
now know | my greatness ! " Woe to thee, shouldst thou not 
depart from nie propitious, beneficeiit, sublime, like to an 
invoked Deity. °0h, sister ! not for all England, not for 
all the lands that the vast ocean embraces, would I present 
myself to tJiee ^with the in°exorable aspect | with which 
thou now regardest me ! 

Voice. Thou murderest thy husbands. 

Mary [shuddering]. Oh, heavens ! °sister — grant me 
^resignation ! 

Voice. Is this the reigning beauty of the universe ? 

Mary. Ah! 'tis too much ! [Impatiently.'] 

Voice. Ay, now thou showest thyself in thine own form. 
Till now thou hast worn a mask ! 

Mary [with dignified 'pride]. They were human errors 
that overcame me in my youth ; my grande'ur | dazzled 
me. I have naught to conceal, | nor deny my faults. My 
pride has ever disdained the base artifices of vile intriguers. 
The worst I ever did | is knowYi, and I may boast myself 
far better | than my reputatioTi. But woe to thee, hypo- 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 

crite, if ever thou lettest fall the virgin mantle beneath 
which thou concealest thine owh shameless love ! Tholi, 
the daughter of Anne Boleyn, hast not inherited virtue, 
and well we know what brought thy mother to the fatal 
block! 

Yoice. Is this thy humility, thy endurance ? 

Mary [loudly']. Enduraiice ! I have endured all that 
'tis in the power of mortal heart to bear. Hence, abject 
humility ! Insulted patieiTce, get ye from my heart ! And 
thou, my long pent-up indignation, break thy bonds and 
burst forth from thy lair ! Oh, thou who gavest to the angry 
serpent his deadly glance, arm thou my tongue with [gut- 
tural] poisonous stings ! °°The throne of England is "^pro- 
faned by thee ! The British nation is duped by a vile 
pretender! Thou art false and painted, °°heart as well as 
face ! Did but r/^^^ prevail, thou wouldst now be grovelling 
at my feet, — for 'tis I who am thy sovereign ! [Elizabeth 
hastily retires.] 

[Still violently excited.]^ She departs, burning with rage 
and \\ith the bitterness of death at heart ! How happy I 
am ! I have degraded her in Leicester's presence ! At last ! 
at last ! after long years of insult and contumely,^ I have 
at least enjoyed °one hour of triiimph ^and revenge ! [Exit 
hastily.] 



Costume. — Satin or brocade silk, with long full skirt ; hig-h bodice, 
pointed back and front ; sleeves open and hanging half way to the 
ground; close, puffed or plain, undersleeves, having deep lace cuifs 
on the outside ; Elizabethan head-dress and full ruff ; rosary and 
crucifix ; as the scene is in the open air, a hat and cloak may be 
added to the outfit, if desired. 

*Con'tumely. 



140 HELEN POTTER'S 



JAKEY AND OLD JACOB 



Jakey crept up and sat down by his mother's side, as she 
was looking out of the window, yesterday morning. After 
a few minutes of silence he broke out with : 

Jdkey. ^ °Ma, ain't pa's name Jacob ? 

Mrs. W. o^es, Jakey ! 

Jakey. # °If I was called young Jacob, he'd be called old 
Jacob, wouldn't he ? 

Mrs. W. {/) oYes, my dear, | what makes you ask ? 

Jakey. * ^Nothing, only I °heard something about him 
(/) ^last night. 

Mrs. W. suddenly became interested. 

Mrs. W. What was it, my son ? 

Jakey. * °0h, nothing much, something the new Sunday 
school teacher said. 

Mrs. TF. o^^^ oughtn't to have anything your °mother 
doesn't know, | Jakey. 

Jakey. * °Well, | if you must go poking into everything \ 
^ril °tell oyou- °The new Sunday school teacher says to 
me, " What's your name, my little man ? " An' when I said, 
" Jacob," he asked me if I ever heard of old Jacob, | an' 
I thought that was °pa's name, | so I told him | ^I guess I 
°had ; but I'd like to hear | what he had to say about him. 
An' he said old Jacob | used to be a little boy once | just 
like me, an' had bean-shooters, | an' | stilts, | an' used to 
play hookey an' get licked, | an' used to tend cattle — 

Mrs. W. Yes, I believe he said | his father used to keep 
a cow. 

Jakey. * An' he hogged his brotlier out of something or 
other, I an' | he got struck with a young woman | named 



IMPERSONATIONS, 141 

Rachel — an' was goiii' | to °marry ^her, | but her dad fooled 
him I an' made him marry his other girl ; | but pa said | he 
guessed °he wasn't nobody's fool, an' so he just married 
°both of 'em — 

Mrs, TF. \excitedly\ ^ °The wretch! 

Jakey. % An' he said old Jacob | had a dozen or two 
"children | an' — 

Mrs. TF. \i'mng\. S °Did I marry him for this ! 

Jakey. t ^I'm sure (\) °I don't know what you "married 
^him °for, | but you won't ketch me tellin' you anything 
a°g'in, I ^if you're goin' to make such a °row about it ; (/) I 
kin tell you °that ! 

When Mr. W. came home, he met Mrs. W. in the hall, 
with a very red face. She pointed her finger at him and 
screamed : 

Mrs. TF. [point to door]. * "Villain ! Can you look your 
innocent wife | and infant son in the face ? 

Mr. W. stared hard at Mrs. W. 

Mrs. TF. ^ ( \ ) °I know where you | go, | sir, | when you 
stay away from home ! I've "heard | the story of your 
"perfidy ! Can you tell me how || [snap it out] Rachel | and 
the other woman are to-day ? 

Mr, IF. [surprised], (/) J. don't know what you "mean. 

Mrs, W' [weeping]. * "I always "knew | something like 
this I would occur. | "Perhaps you can tell me | how the | 
the — I the — | children | are. [8ohhing.] Oh, why did I 
ever leave my father's house. [Wring the hands and sway 
to and fro.] Oh, why did I ever leave my father's house ! 
"Jakey, | my "boy, | come here | to your mother. "Oh, oh ! 
Jakey, | Jakey, we shall be very | "poor, | and we shan't 
have ( / ) anything to eat. Oh, Jakey, Jakey, why was I 
ever | born | to come | to this ! [ TFa^^ up and down.] 

[Enter a neighbor ; Mrs. W. runs to her, exclaiming.] Oh, 
Mrs. Lewis, | I'm so glad you've come. I'm the most "mis- 
erable woman | in all the world ! [Cry.] My husband 



142 HELEN POTTER'S 

(q.) is a villain ! || [Cry.] It's all very well | for you to tell 
me I to be pliilo''soph^i°cal, | but [hysterically with handker- 
chief to eyes] I °can't — oh, I can't, I can't ! [Stamp ami sit 
abruptly.] I never yet saw a man | with a mole on his 
nose I who didn't, sooner or later, prove to be ^ ras- 
cal ! 

Toward evening Jakey was sitting on the steps, when 
the Sunday school teacher chanced to pass by, and Jakey 
hailed him : 

Jakey. ff °Say, mister, I told my "mother | what you told 
me about old Jacob, and there has been the old "scratch to 
pay I ever since. Ma called pa a villain | and a bloody 
thief, I and tried to break her back on the sofa, | and said 
there wouldn't be anything to eat, and there ain't been such 
a time in our house | since pa offered to kiss Aunt Jane 
"good-bye. Mebbe you'd better drop in and °see ^her, | 
mister ; || but she ain't so bad as she °was ! 

He was finally persuaded to enter the house. 

Mrs.W. [tearfully], °I °thank ^you | for tellin' me of my 
husband's °perfidy ! 

8. S. T. Perfidy, your husband ! I haven't said a word 
about your husband ! 

Mrs. W. °0h, yes, you °have. You told my poor boy, 
Jakey, and he came straight home | and told me all about 
it, I Jakey did. 

S. /S. T. I don't know what you °mean ! 1 told Jakey | 
what, I when, | where ? 

3Irs. W. °0h, you told Jakey | that his father, old Jacob, 
had tv/o — °°two wires. 

S. S, T. Old Jacob, \ two wives ! Oh, dear me, that was 
the patriarch Jacob, the Bible Jacob, tliat I was telling 
the boys about in Sunday school. I don't (\) °k7iow your 
husband ; never saw him in my life, and I didn't know liis 
name was Jacob ! 

Mrs. W. started right off to find her husband, and aston- 



IMPERSONATIONS. 148 

ished him again | by throwing her arms about his neck and 
sobbing hysterically. 

Mrs. TF. * °01i, you dear | good | soul ! Can you °ever 
^for°give me ? I've been such a | °fool 1 Oh, dear ! oh, 
dear ! 

And Mrs. W. would be perfectly happy | if she could 
only shut Mrs. Lewis's || mouth. 



LARGE AND SMALL BOSSES, 



Chief Clerh [to head of edablishment\. Good morning, Mr. 
Large wealth. 

Head of Establishment. Good morning, Mr. Smith . 

Second Chief Clerk [to chief clerk']. Good morning, Mr. 
Smith ; pleasant morning. 

Chief Clerk. Morning, Brown. 

Ordinary Clerk [to second chief clerk]. Good morning, Mr. 
Brown. Glad to see you looking so well this morning, sir. 

Second Chief Clerk. Ya'as. Hang up my coat, Jones. 

Office Boy [to ordinary clerk]. Good morning, Mr. Jones. 
Can I do anything for you this morning, sir ? 

Ordinary Clerk. Hustle round lively now, and get things 
in shape. You ain't worth the powder to blow you \\\). 

Negro Poofter [to office hoy]. Good mawnin', James. How 
is your health this mawnin' ? 

Office Boy. Come, you black nigger, get doAvn stairs and 
sweep out the basement, or I'll report you. 

The negro porter then goes down stairs and abuses the 
cat. 



144 HELEN POTTER'S 



A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 



BY O. E. MELICHAR. 



PROLOGUE. 



" We've laid so long we're getting dusty, 

For want of use our leaves are musty ; 

We're never read, we're only kept for looks," 

Was the gossip carried on among the library books. 

" What say you, brothers, since we're so seldom used, 
That we a story tell, each other to amuse ? 
The plot and title from our names we'll take. 
Which, put together, shall our story make. 
No mixing up of authors, for that is wrong. 
But in sMct rotation each shall come along." 

To Dickens' works the lot it fell 

To give the title, and commence as well; 

All being ready, Dickens' works began, 

And while the others listened, thus the story ran. 

N Hard Times one cannot have Great Expecta- 
tions,'^ were the remarks made by David Copper- 
field, as he sat reading The Myst&ry of Edwin 
Drood in The Pickwick Paper's at 3Irs. Lirnpers 
Lodgings, which was a Bleak House on a side 
street, and therefore No Thoo^oughfare. His 
room was indeed an Old Curiosity Shop. Master' 
Humphrey's Clock stood in one corner, Somebody's Luggage 
in another, while Sketches by Boz and a few odd Pictures 
from Italy decorated the walls. His fellow-lodger, Martin 
Chuzzlewit, reclined on the bed, drawing Sketches of Young 




IMPERSONATIONS. 145 

Couples for The Mudfog Papers, to which he was a con- 
tributor. The Cricket on the Hearth was singing a sort of 
A Christinas Carol, as if to cheer The Uncominerdal Traveled' 
through The Battle of Life. He was indeed A Haunted 
Man; as he heard The Chimes, his memory wandered back 
to Torn, Tiddler'^s Ground at Mugby Junction, where he and 
his friend Barnahy Rudge first met Little Dorrit, who was 
introduced by Oliver Twist, whom she termed Our Mutual 
Friend. Well did he remember the spot, an inn kept by 
Dombey S Son. 'Twas The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Ap- 
preyitices. 

Pleasant indeed were the recollections of how with her 
he had gathered Fallen Leaves, played Hide and Seek, and 
how After Dark he had frightened her and Pooi^ Miss Finch 
by telling of a Dead Secret of a Woman in White, who wore 
a Black Robe and a Yellow Mask, and came from The Frozen 
Deep, and inhabited The Haunted Hotel at Armadale, and 
was supposed to be JezebeVs Daughter, but was called by 
neighbors The New Magdalen ; and how after the Duel in 
H&rneWood, near The Moonstone, a spirit with Magic Spec- 
tacles was seen and heard to cry out, Who Killed Zebedee ? 
'Twas A Shocking Story with No Name, so he applied that 
of The Captain's Last Love to illustrate the end of A Rogues 
Life. As she intently listened how he wished they were 
Man and Wife, for he thought her The Queen of Hearts. 
But who could have foretold The Two Destinies ? He was 
poor, while My Lady's Money was counted by thousands. 

Her eyes were brilliant as Sunrise. She was In Silk 
Attire. The Three Feathers in her bonnet and the Madcap 
Violet on her bosom made her more beautiful than the 
Princess of Thule. She lacked only White Wings to be in 
his eyes an angel ; in fact, she would have captivated The 
Monarch of Mincing Lane. 

He had been a Wandering Heir, a Jack of all Trades; 
but Put Yourself in his Place, and you Avould have been the 



146 HELEN POTTER'S 

same. He had been A Woman Hater untii he first met her 
whose words, Love Me Little, Love Me Long, were engraven 
in his heart. To him it had been A Terrible Tempiaiion to 
tell White Lies that he might gain her. To have said that 
he possessed Hard Cash would have been Foul Play. He 
was not such A Simpleton to risk the chances of The Jilt. 
He had led a roving life; but 'Tis Never too Late to Mend, 
was his motto. 

Six Years Later, Three Strong Men, Captain Paul, Count 
of Monte Cristo, and The Chevalier de Maison Rouge, who 
was no other than our hero, sat gambling for The Queens 
Necklace, which they together had captured from Joseph 
Balsamo, The Watchmaker to The Countess de Charny. 
'Twas they who were The Co7ispiraiors, who with the aid of 
Doctor Basiliris and The Russian Gypsy, known as The Black 
Tulip, who w^as one of The Mohicans of Paris, had caused 
to be set aside The Marriage Verdict in the love affair 
between Chicot, the Jester and Isabel of Bavaria who, how- 
ever. Twenty Years After, became the wife of The Page of 
the Duke of Savoy. Catherine Bhtm, The Regent's Daughter, 
hearing of the loss of the jewel, dispatched The Twin 
lAeuteyiants with 45 Guardsmen to recover it. Having 
located it correctly, they stationed 8 Guardsmen outside, 
and then, like Birds of Prey, made a descent on the gam- 
blers, who were now Put to the Test. Taking advantage 
of The Shadow in the Corner, our hero alone escaped. What 
A Straiige World thought he ; but I will fight Just As I Am, 
To the Bitteo' End, for I am Bound to Join Com,pany with her 
again, even if I have to show The Cloven Foot to accomplish 
it. Yet she was Only a Woman; but he w^ould never be 
Lost for Love if he could but reach her; he was wealthy 
now, his sister Charlottes Inheritance having fallen to him. 

It was A ChoHstiaii's Mistake. Studies from Life had been 
to him as Sermons out of Church ; there was Nothing Neio ; 
he was novvT A Hero ; in all liis battles it had been A Life 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 147 

fw a Life; lie would return now and be The Head of the 
Family, marry the Brace Lady of his choice, and lead A 
Noble Life. Mother and I will be happy when we again 
meet at the Laurel Bash where we parted, and sister 
Hannah, who has just received A Legacy, and who is going 
to be married to John Halifax, Gentleman, will welcome me 
with open arms. The Two Marriages shall take place 
together, and in The Two Homes, Mistress and Maid will both 
be merry. Young Mrs. Jardine, The Italians Daughter, who 
by the way is Motherless, is coming with Cousin froon India 
to The Happy Isles, and will be in time to see Squire 
Arden in May tie the knot For Love and Life. Dorrit and 
I will go to Paris, and the v/orld may deem us The Fugi- 
tives, but I care not. The Greatest Heiress in England or 
even The Queen is not lovelier than she, whom I have taken 
In Trust. 

Years after, strangers passing along Primrose Path have 
noticed An Odd Couple living at No. 3 Grom Road ; together 
they are known as the Orphans ; separately the woman is 
called Madonna Mary, and the man The Wandering Jew ; 
in fact, they are one of The Mysteries of Paris. Years ago, 
some say, the man was none other than Arthur, The Com- 
mander of Malta, and was The Court Conspirator, who 
escaped with The Toilers of the Sea. The History of a Coime 
in regard to a stolen necklace is also related of the man by 
The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and is vouched for by 
Jean Valjean, they having seen the documents at St. 
Denis. 

On St. Martin's Eve the couple removed to Rupert Hall on 
Red Court Farm, near Pomeroy Abbey, and to-day their 
former dwelling is known as The Haunted Tower on account 
of The Mystery that hung over its former occupants. Thus 
is A Life's Secret lost to the community. In their new 
home the v/oman is known as The Nobleman's Wife, and 
the man as The Little Earl who has lived Under Two Flags. 



148 HELEN POTTERS 

They live in Friendship with all, even the Village Commune, 
and A Herds Reward is granted him. 

He has sown A Harmst of Wild Oats, and his experiences 
are Written in Fire ; how he ever survived is Out of His 
Reckoning. He has now an heir whom he calls My Own 
Child, The Fair Haired Alda, With Cupid's Eyes. Thus in 
Love's Conflict, as in his life, it has been to him A Lucky 
Disappointment in the end. 

The Turn of Fortune's Wheel, which is as fickle as A 
Young Man's Fancy, has placed them happily together In 
a Country House, which to the yet Fair Woman and My 
Hero is more beautiful than was Queen Elizabeth's Garden. 



AFTER THE BALL. 



BY SAMUEL MINTURN PECK. 



Amid the merry dancers my face is blithe and bright, 
And in the waltz or lanciers my feet are lithe and light. 
He frowns to see me laughing amid the joyous crew, 
And thinks I do not love him — ah, if he only knew ! 

He deems a woman's passion the art of a coquette, 

And vows that naught but fashion my heart hath stirred 

as yet. 
He only sees the actress before the play is through, 
Alas ! behind the curtain — ah, if he only knew ! 

Must women e'er be wearing the heart upon the sleeve, 
A mark for idle staring that lovers may believe ? 
I am not cold nor fickle, forgetful nor untrue ; 
I love him — I adore him — ah, if he only knew ! 



IMPERSONA'riONS. 149 

GIRLS. 



A STUDY OP OLIVE LOGAN. 



Text from one of her Lectures. 




.DIES and Gentlemen : In looking about me, | 
for a subject [ for my lecture, | I selected ^irZs, | 
[geurls] because °that (/) ^is a subject | with 
which I am most ( \ ) familiar [family ah]. The 
first thing | that happens to a girl | (\) °she's 
a baby; | and the same thing happens to 
boys, I toS. 

The girls of America | may be divided into 
four [foah] classes : Country girls, | fashionable girls, | 
strong-minded girls, | and | Yankee girls'. 

Country girls | are stupid and sensible ; fashionable 
girls I are better | [bettah] than they seem ; strong-minded 
girls I are brave and erratic ; and the Yankee girl | is a 
jewel of a girl. 

°/ (/) don't want the | °ballot ! I wouldn't lose my long 
beautiful curls {daintily toying with long curls which hung 
from her coil of rich brown hair'], and wear short hair like a 
babboon ! ( \ ) °I don't want to be a man | and wear their 
horrid °cloth'es, and I (\) °never see | a pretty girl | but I 
want to ruii | and clasp her | in my arms. 
[Voice from the gallery.] ^^So do we! " 
°Well, oboys [looking up to the gallery], I can't blame 
you ! [Exit.] 

Miss Logan is a graceful and accomplished lady, and a skilful 
diplomat. In the fashionable world she is most at home. An eleg-ant 
costume of French desig-n will suit this characterization. Elevate 
the shoulders and lean forward. Speak slowly, in a clear, hig-h voice, 
and move upon your high heels somewhat as a canary bird does 
upon his perch when he sings. 



150 HELEN POTTER'S 



THE BALLAD OF THE LOST BRIDE, 



The mistletoe hung in the castle hall, 
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall, 
And the Baron's retainers were blithe and gay, 
And keeping their Christmas holiday. 
The Baron beheld with a father s pride, 
His beautiful child, young Level's bride, 
While she, with her bright eyes, seemed to be 
The star of that goodly company. 

" I'm weary of dancing now," she cried, 

" Here tarry a moment, I'll hide, I'll hide. 

And Lovel be sure thou'rt the first to trace 

The clue to my secret lurking place." 

Away she ran, and her friends began 

Each tower to search and each nook to scan. 

And young Lovel cried : " Oh ! where dost thou hide, 

I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride." 

They sought her that night and they sought her next day, 

And they sought her in vain, when a week passed away, 

In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot. 

Young Lovel sought wildly but found her not ; 

And years flew by and their grief at last 

Was told as a sorrowful tale long past, 

And when Lovel appeared the children cried : 

''See ! the old man weeps for his fairy bride." 

At length an oak chest, that had long lain hid 
Was found in the castle. They raised the lid, 
And a skeleton form of a lady fair. 
In bridal array of dust lay there. 



IMPERSONA TIONS, 151 

Oh ! sad was her fate ; in sportive jest, 
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest, 
It closed with a spring, and her bridal bloom 
Lay withering there in a living tomb. 

Pantomime of "The Lost Bride." 



StanZxV L — The bridal tableau ; the bride leaves the com- 
pany ; the company seek the bride. 

Stanza IL — The garret ; the old chest ; the bride hides ; 
almost saved; lost forever; grief; the bridal party 
mourning. 

Stanza IIL — Fifty years later ; children on the gi'een at 
play ; the old man appears searching for his bride. 

StanzxV IV. — The butler in the garret ; goes for the house- 
keeper ; such a dust ! housemaids called ; curiosity ; the 
mystery revealed ; goes for the old man ; the bridal 
wreath recognized ; closing scene. 



This most touching- story has been arranged for a series of tableaux 
many times. A synopsis of the pantomime is here given. The poem 
should be recited before the pantomime begins. 



A TOAST. 



From ruby lips to finger tips 
She's made of mortal blisses ; 

Angels above who worship love 
Would languish for her kisses. 

I quaff this cup to one made up 
Of grace found in no other ; 

In whose true eyes God's own love lies- 
I drink it to my mother. 



152 HELEN POTTERS 



MEG MERRILIES, 



PART FIRST. 



From "Guy Mannering."— Walter Scott. 



A STUDY OF CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. 



Argument. — Henry Bertram is stolen by the gj^psies, when a child ; 
he is abandoned by them, serves in the army, and tinally wanders 
back to his native place. The gypsies discover him, and, to ex- 
tort money from the man who holds illegal possession of young 
Bertram's estates, conspire to carry him off by f(u-ce or to murder 
him. From this dilemma, old Meg Merrilies delivers him at the 
peril of her life. Shot by her own people, she dies hei-oically pi-o- 
claiming his heirship to the estates of Ellangowan. 



Act II., Scene III. — A wild forest, cliff and hills in the distance ; a 
gypsy hut in the centre. 

\M€g rushes in from the forest and stands gazing, as if trans- 
fixed, at Henry Bertram, who sits, with a companion, at an 
outdoor repast. Throw off the mice {while transfixed) and speak 
for young Bertram, to open the conversation between them.] 

Bert. [disg. v.] My good woman, do you know me that 
you look at me so hard ? 

Meg. °Ay, better than you know youi-self ! 

Bert. [disg. v.] That is, you'll tell my future fortune. 

Meg. ^Yes, | because I know your °past. 

Bert. [disg. v.] {/) Indeed! then you have read a per- 
plexed page. 

Meg. °It will be clearer °soon. 

Bert. [disg. ■».] Never less likely. 

Meg. °°Never m,ore ^ ! [ Waves away his offer of money.] 
If, I with a simple spell, | I cannot recall times | which you 
have long (/) forgotten, | (\) hold me the most "miserable 
(\)°impostor. (\)°Hearme, | °hear me, ^Henry, | Henry 
Bertram. Hark ! hark ! to the sound of other days ! 
Listen | and let your heart | awake. [Sings, and sighs when 
taking breath.] 




HELEN POTTER AS CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN 
AS MEG MERRILIES. 



IMPERSONA TTONS. 



153 



OH, REST THEE, BABE. 



Andantino. 



p Tutu. I ! 






Oh, slum - ber, my darling, — thy sire is a knight. Thy 




^^^m^^^^M 



p 



bfci 



m^. 



m 






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mother a la-dy, so love- ly and bright! The hills and the 



^m F 1 F 1 — ^ 1 — i^^"^ 1 1 1 — I H 1 



m 



— — 0- 



154 



HELEN POTTERS 



-^--N- 



/ 






^=^. 



J ^ — p- — 1 > 



=ir^Ez=z:iiil?i==zi=t;z=: 

dales, from the tow'rs which we see, They all shall belong, my dear 

_^_N ^ 



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pgi=:?zzfz=«-pzzz:nii=^pzz:ifi=rfziziittr-f. 



a^ Z^&. 



a tempo. 






V 1^ 

in - fant, to thee 



V — ^ — -■ ^- 

Oh, rest thee, babe, rest thee, babe, 




|^'ijp p=i=Zq== <ri:=jzz: i=q==:z E jz;z ziz=:z=:z4z ziz=zziz 3 



5 






sleep on till day ; Oh, rest thee, babe, rest thee, babe, 



^^^^^E: ^^^^im ^ 



E^ 



-•-- 



-r- 



IMFERSONA TIONS. 155 




gigiz^£:i-=j,-^zzzz zzi^:iii: [^-^Jz: 

sleep while you may. 



J L ta - 1 h-*^ — S-T-€-a|— ^ J 



a temj)0. \ 

-g # — * ^r* ^- 



n 



---=^ -3fEEt^i:ES^fcEt==?; 



-t 1/— f=— ^-t ^ J- . 

^er^. [diV- '"•] These words do, indeed, thrill my bosom 
with strange emotions. [Meg starts as if rejoiced, and ex- 
claims, ''""hi!''] 

Meg. "Listen, °youth, | to (\) Vords of power ; 

(- -) Swiftly I comes | the rightful houi' ! 

(- -) °They who did thee scathe and wrolig, 

^Shall I °pay their deeds | ^by | death \ [nod] erelong. 

(s. < ) The dark shall be light, and the wrong made right, 

(/) And Bertram's right, | and Bertram's might, | 

^Shall I °°MEET I ^on Ellangowan's height ! 

Bert.[disg.v.\ "Bertram ! "Bertram! | Why does that 
name sound so familiar to me ? 

Meg. And now | begone ! (/.) "Franco, ""Fran'co, | guide 
these strangers on their way to "Kippletringaii ; | °°Kip- 
pletring^ah! {p.) "Yet ^stay ; let me see your hand, (i) 
What say these lines of the fortunes past ? Wandering and 
woe and danger and crosses in lo've and in friendship ! 
Whatj)f the future ? Honor, wealtH, prosperity, love re- 
warded^nd friendship reuniTed ! ^But what of the pres- 
enfi Ay ! there's a trace, which speaks [quick] of "danger, 
of „cap"tivity, {/) perchance; [slower] ^but not \ of death! 
[Look cautiously around and speak low.] ^If you are attacked, 
be men, and let your "hands (\) "defend your heads! 

(M Take the left hand with the right, and, stooping, peer into the palm and 
Jiiss It, exclaiming tearlally ;" My b^irn, my bairn, my bonny bairn !'■ 



156 HELEN POTTERS 

\Quick.'\ I will not be far distant from you in the moment 
of need. And now begone ! Fate calls you ! \^Shade the 
ei/es with the hand, and look cautiously to the right and left.] 
^Away, °aioay, °°away ! [Run off the stage while saying the 
last words.] 

PART SECOND. 



Act III., Scene I. — Seashore, with the Castle on the rocks. 

Meg. °So, ^s^ ; his death \ is purpo^d ; and they 
have chosen the scene ^of °one °murder | ^to commit 
another. °Right ! the blood spilt on that spot, (- -) has 
long I cried | for ^vengeance, || and it (\) °shall fall upon 
them. Sebastian, speed to Dinmont | and the youth ; tell 
them °not ^to separate | for their lives, ( — ) guide them to 
the glen | near the tower ; ( \) °there let them wait | till 
Glossin and Hatterick | °meet (/) ^in the cavern, | and I 
will join them. °°Away, | ^and do my bidding ! [Exit 
/Sebastian.] (--) ^Now | to send to Mannering, (--) I must 
remain on the watch myself. (^^) °Gabriel | ^I dare not 
trust. °Ha ! (\) °who comes now? [Start back, then ad- 
vance stealthily, and peer into the forest with the hand shading 
the eyes.] ^'Tis °Abel ^SampsoTi, Henry Bertram's ancient 
°tutor ! [Stop and think.] ^It (\) °shall be so. [Advance.] 
°°Stop ! I command ye ! 

[Disg. v.] ^She's °mad ! 

Meg. No ; I am °not ^mad ! I've been Qim°prisoned for 
°nTad, ^scourged ^for °inad, (\) °°banished for mad; ^but 
°mad I I am not ! °Halt, | and stand fast, | or ye shall °rue 
the day | while a °limb of ye | hangs together ! oStliy, | 
^thou °tremblest ! [Take out an old black whiskey bottle and 
hold it out to Sampson, left.] °Drink | ^and put some (\) 
° heart in ye ! [ Watch him drink, moving slightly to and fro, 
still holding up the bottle.] °Can your learning (\) "tell you 
what I °that ^is ? eh ! [Put the bottle back into the pocket.] 
(\) °Will you remember my errand now? [Nod.] Ay! 
(- -) then tell Colonel Mannering, | if °ever he owed a 



IMPERSONATIONS, 157 

debt I to the house | of Ellango\varu, | (/) and hopes to see 
it "prosper, to come (\) ""instantly, | armed, and °well ^at- 
tended, | to the glen, below the tower of °Derncleugh ; and 
°fail not I on his life / ( ^ ) You know the spot ! ^You (\) 
°know the spot ! (\) Ay, Abel Sampson, | there | blazed 
my hearth for many a day ! ^and °there, beneath "the wil- 
low I that hung its garlands °over ^the °brook, | I've sat 
and "sung to "Harry ^Bertram, | songs | (- -) of the old | 
time. (\) "That tree | is "wither'd now, | never | 
to be green again ; ( — ) and old Meg Merrilies will never, 
°necer \ (\) "sing blythe songs more. [Cross over.'\ 
(--) But I charge you, Abel Sampson, | ( — ) "when the 
heir shall have his own, ^as soon he "shall, that you tell 
him I ( ^ ) "not to ofor°get | Meg "Merrili^ ; (- -) but to 
build up the old walls in the glen, | for "her ^sake, | "and 
let those that (/) live there | be too "good | (--) ^to fear 
the beings | of another "world ; for, ^if "ever "the ^dead | 
^come back | among the "living, | ""I | "will be seen in that 
glen I ""many a night | ( — ) "after these crazed | old | 
bones || are whitened | ( \ ) in the grave ! ^ha, "ha ! [Laugh 
and stagger hack.'] 

I have (\) "said it, ^old man ! ye shall see him Qa"gain, | 
and the (\) best lord | "he ^shall "b'e'| ^that Ellangowan 
has seen these ( \ ) ° hundred years. (- -) "But you're o'er long 
"here. "Away to Mannering, ^a"way ! or the heir of Ellan- 
gowan (/) ^may perish | Qfor°ever! ""Away, ^away ! 

[Exit while speaking the last two words.] 



For sketch of Miss Cushman, see Page 26. 

Costume. — An old, rag-g-ed, patched di'ess, a faded old scarf about 
the head (or a kerchief), and some sort of socks, moccasins, or low 
shoes, all of the gypsy order. The gray, tangled hair should be seen 
in straggling locks about her face, and, in Pai-t First, a forked stick 
or staff, about the height of the speaker. For Part Second, enter 
quickly, and strike an attitude of intense surprise, the forked stick 
grasped tightly in the right hand and planted firmly before you. In 
the playbook the costume is given thus : ** Brown cloth petticoat 
and body, torn old red cloak, torn pieces of plaid, and old russet 
sandals." 



158 HELEN POTTER'S 



HAHLET. 



From "Hamlet." — Shakespeare. 



A STUDY OF EDWIN BOOTH AS HAMLET. 



Act v., Scene I. — A Churchyard. Enter two Grave-diggers. 

\&t Gram. * °Is she to be buried in Christian burial that 
wilfully seeks her own salvation ? 

2d Grave, b ^I tell thee, she is^; make the grave straight ; 
the crowner hath set on her, ( — ) and finds it Christian 
burial. 

Is^ Grave. S °How can that be, unless she drowned 
herself | in her owm Qde°fence ? 

2d Grave, t oWhy, 'tis °found ^so. 

1st Grave. # °It must be se \ offendendo ; \ it cannot be else. 
For here lies the point : if I drown myself ^wit^ting^ly^ | 
it argues an act ; | and an act hath ^three ^branclies ; °it 
is, ^to °act, ^to °do^Qand to | Qper°form. ^Ar^gal, [=ergo, 
therefore] she drowned herself ( \ ) wittingly. 

2d Grave, b oNay, but hear you, ^goodnian delver. 

1st Grave. * (\) °Here lies the water; ^good; ^here 
stands the °m"an ; ogood. If the man go to this "waiter, | 
^and I °drown {/) Qhim°self, | it is, | will he, | nill lie^ | 
he goes ; ^mark you that. °But, (/)if the water (\) come 
to "hinT, ^and °drown ohiin, | ^he ^drowns ^not him°self. 
Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death, (q.) ^shortens 
not his own life. 

2d Grave, b ^But is this (\) °law ? 

Is^ Grave, i °Ay, marry is't, ^crown°e?s-(\ )°quest law. 

2d Grave, h oWill you ha' the truth on't ? If this had 
not been a gentlewonian, she should have been buried °out \ 
of Christian burial. 




EDWIN BOOTH AS HAMLET. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 159 

l5^ Grave. * ^Why, (\) °there thou say'st ; and the more 
pity, ^that °great folks should have "couutenaiice | in this 
world I to drown | or hang themselves, | more than their 
even "Chris^tian. °Come, °my ^spade. °There is no ancient 
gentlemen but ^garden^ers, | Qditch°ers, | and °grave- 
^makers; they hold up (\) ° Adam's profession. 

2d Gh'am. t ^Was he a Qgentle°maii ? 

1st Gram. # °He was the first | that ever bore arms. I'll 
put a ( \ ) "question to thee : if thou answerest me not to 
the purpose, confess thyself. 

2d Gram, b °Go ^to. 

Ist Gram. ^ °What is he that builds Qstrong°er | than 
either the Qma°son, | ^ship°wright, | ^or the "carpenter ? 

2d Grave, fe oThe °gallows ^maker ; | for that frame out- 
lives a "thousand ^tenants. 

1st Grave. Jf I like thy wit well, in good faith ; the °gal- 
^lows ^does "well. ^But "how does it well ? "it does ^well | 
to those that do "ill : ^now | thou dost "ill | ^to say the 
"gal^lo'ws I is built ^ strong "er | than the "church. ^Argal, 
the Qgal°lows may do well to "thee. [Laughs.] "To't 
a^gain; come. 

2d Grave, h ^Who builds stronger than a mason, a ship- 
wright, or a "carpenter ? [As if thinking it out.] 

1st Grave. S "Ay, tell me that, and Qun°yoke. 

2d Grave, h Marry, (\) "now I can (/) Jell. 

1st Grave. « ,To't. 

2d Grave. [Shakes his head.] ^ Mass, I cannot tell. 

1st Grave, [laughs]. * "Cudgel thy brains no more about it ; 
for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating; 
[laughs] and, "when you are asked this ques^tion "next, 
say, a "grave-^maker ; the "houses ^that "he ^makes, | last 
till "dooms^day. Go, get thee to Yaugh~aii,^ and fetch me 
a stoupt of liquor. 

[Exit 2d Grave-digger. 1st Grave-digger sings and grunts 
while digging. Usually sung without accompaniment.] 

* Yow'an.^ t Sloop. ~ 



160 



HELEN POTTER'S 



^ In youth, when I did love, did love, 
Methought it was very sweet. 
To contract, oh, the time, for, ah, my behove, 
Oh, (ugh) methought there was nothing meet. 
[Enter Hamlet and Horatio^ and stand behind the gram.'] 
Ham. ^Has this fellow no feeling of his business ? he 
sings I at grave-Qmak°iiig. 

Hor. ^Cus°tom | hath made it in him | a property of 
"easi^ness. 

Ham. °'Tis even ^so : the hand of little employment | 
hath the daintier | sense. 

[Grave-digger sings^ digs, and grunts, and throws up a skull.] 

But age, with all his steal - ing steps. Hath 






-N-F=^v 



e^il^Jis^^J 



-t7 N 



-^— .-—, 






claw'd me in his clutch — a, 



And hath shipped me in — 



^^izz^zz 






-0— 









— till the lands, As if I had never been such— a. 



IMPERSONA TIONS, 



161 



Ham. \^pic'k8 up the skull and soliloquizes in low and solemn 
voice]. That skull | had a tongue in it | and could sing 
once. How the knave jowls it to the ground as if it were 
Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder ! This might 
be the pate | of a politiciaii, | which this ass now | o'er- 
reaches ; | one that would circumvent heaven ; ^might it 
not? 

[The grave-digger throws up hones.] 

Hor. ^It °might, ^ray lord. 

Ham. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to 
play at loggats | with them ? Mine ache | to think on't. 
[Grave-digger sings.] 






"dv 



-\- 






-• — 



A pick - axe and a spade, a spade, For- 





— pV »— h-^ H- 






sii 



to 



be made For such a srnest is meet — a. 



g 






11 



[Throws up another skull.] 



162 HELEN FOrTEK S 

Ham. ( — ) ^There's another. °Why may not that | 
be the skull of a "law^yer? (\) ° Where be his quiddits 
^now, I his °quilleTs, | ^his °cas"es, | his ^ten^ufes, | ^and 
his tricks ? Why does he suffer this rude knave now | to 
knock him about the sconce | with a °dirty shovel, | and 
will not tell him of his action of Qbat°ter^y ? ^I will °speak 
to ^this fellow. °Whose grave's this, sirrah ? 

1st Grave. * °Mine, ^sir. 

[Sings.] | ^Oh, a °pit of clay | ^for (\ ) °to be made 
^For such a °guest | ^is °meet. 

Ham. qI think it be thine, in°deed ; ^for thou °liest in it. 

1st Oram. Jt [digging]. °You ^lie °out ^on't, °sir, | and 
therefore | it is not yours ; for my part, | I do ^not ^lie 
in't, I yet it is mine. 

Ham, oThou dost lie °in't, | (/) to be in't, | ^and °say 
^it is °thiiie : 'tis for the dead, not for the quick ; ^therefore 
thou °li^est. 

1st Grave. ^ 'Tis a °quick ^lie, °sii' ; 'twill away again 
from °me ^to °y"ou. 

Hain. What man dost thou °dig it for ? 

1st Grave. ^ ^For (\) °no man, sir. 

Ham. oWhat °woman, ^then ? 

1st Grave. * For none neither 

Ham. °Who | Js to be {\) °buried in't ? 

1st Grave. * One that °was | ^a woman, °sir; ^but, °rest 
her soul ! ^she's °dead. 

Ham. How "ab^solute | the knave is ! We must speak by 
the card, | ^or equivocation will undo us. „How ''long | 
hast thou been a (\) °grave-maker ? 

1st Grave. « [leans on his spade]. °0f all the days i' the 
year, | I came to't °that ^day | that our last king Hamlet 
overcame Fortinbras.* 

Ham. [asJis himself]. How long is that siiice ? 

1st Grave. « ^Cannot you tell that? ^Every^fool (/) can 



Fort'Inbra. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 163 

tell tKat; it was that very day that young Hamlet was 
born ; he that is mad, and sent into England. 

Ham. °Ay, ^marry, "why ^was he sent into England ? 

\8t Gram. * °Why, | ^because he was °mad. He shall 
recover his wits there ; or, if he do °not, 'tis no great 
matter | ^thefe. 

Ham, (/) ^Why ? 

Isi Qraw. S °Twill not be (\) °seen in him | ^there; | 
there | ^the men are as mad as °he. 

Ham. qHow °came ^he mad ? 

\8t Qrave. * ^Very ^strangejly, °they say. 

Ham. °How | ^ strangely ? 

1st Gram. S °Faith, e'en with losing ^his °wits. 

Ham. ^Upon what °ground ? 

1st Gram. # o^^Y' I °h6re in Denniark. (\) °I have 
been | ^sex^ton °here, °man ^and °boy, | thirty years. 

Ham. qHow °long | ^will a man lie i' the earth | ( \ ) ere 
he rot ? 

Is^ Gram. # [^sitting on the side of the gram, his face toward 
the audience; speak slowly]. ° I^'aith, | if he be not rotten | 
be°fore ^he °die, he will last you some °eight oye'ar, | ^or 
°nine oJ^ar; | a tanner | (/) ^will last you | °nine oyear. 

Ham. oWhy °he | ^more than an^oth^er ? 

1st Gram. ^ °Why, sir, | ^his °hide ^is °so tanned ^with 
his °trade, that he will keep out Avater | a great while. 
[Stands in the grave again, and turns over the earth and hones 
thrown up; slowly.] (\) °Here's a skull, | now, | hath lain 
you i' the earth | three-and-twenty years. 

Ham. °Whose ^was it ? 

1st Grave. « (\) ° Whose do you (\) °think it was ? 

Ham. ( — ) o^ay, I know not. 

]s^ Grave. ^ ^A. pestilence on him for a mad rogue ! [Pats 
the skull with his hand ; laughs all along.] °He poured a 
flagon of Rhenish on my head once ! °This same skull, 
°sir, I ^was °Yorick's ^skull, | the °king's jester. 

[Gives skull to Hamlet.] 



164 HELEN POTTER'S 

Ham. This? 

\8t Grave. « ^E'en °that. 

Ham. ^Alas ! [soft] °poor ^Yorick ! [Turns.] I knew him, 
Horatio ; a ^fellow of °iiifinite Jest, ^of most °excelleiTt 
^fan^cy. ^He hath °borne me ^on his °back | ^a °thousan(l 
^times. °Here hung those lips that I have kissed | (q.) 
I know not how oft. *°Where be your gibes now ? your 
gamBols ? °your songs ? your flaslies ( — ) of merriment, 
that were wont to set the table in a roar ? ^Not °one ( — ) 
now, I to mock your own grinning ? °quite ^ chap-fallen ? 
°Now oget you to my lady's chamKer, °and tell her | let her 
paint an inch thick, | ^to this favor | must | she come: \ 
^make her laugh | ^at °that. °Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me 
one thing. 

Hor. (/) What's that, my lord ? 

Ham. Dost thou think that Alexander | looked o' ^this 
fashion i' the earth ? 

Hor. {/) ^E'en °so. 

Ham., (y) And smelt so? pah! [Lays down the skull.] 

Hor. oE'en °so, ^my lord. 

Ham. To what base uses | we may return, Horatio ! 
°Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alex- 
bander, ^till he find it stopping a bung-hole ? 

Hor. o'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so. 

Ham. °No, ^faith, °not a jot ; but to follow him thither 
with modesty enough, and likelihood | to lead it: As tlius, | 
Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returned 
to dust ; the dust is earth ; of earth we make loam ; and 
why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they 
not stop a beer-barrel ? 

"Imperious Caes'ar, dead | and turiled to clay, | 
Might st^ a hoTe to keep the wind away ; 
Oh, (\ ) that that earth, | (- -) which kept the world in awe, I 
Should °patch ^a °wall, t'expel the winter s lia?vV ! [Bell tolls.] 
(p.) But soft ! but soft ! aside : — here comes the king. [End.] 

♦Breathe "Ha!" 




MODJESKA AS OPHELIA. 



IMPERSGNA TIONS, 



165 



OPHELIA 



PART FIRST. 



From "Hamlet." — Shakespeare. 



A STUDY OF MME. HELENA MODJESKA. 



Argument. — Ophelia is the young-, beautiful, and pious daughter of 
Polonius, lord chamberlain to the King of Denmark. Hamlet fell 
in love with her, but marriage being inconsistent with his ideas of 
vengeance, he affected madness ; this so wrought upon her that her 
intellect gave way, and (in Shakespeare's " Hamlet," 1596), while 
attempting to gather flowers from a brook, she fell into the water 
and was drowned. 



Act IV., Scene V.— Elsinore. A room in the castle. 
Ophelia [without]. Where is the beauteous majesty of Den- 
mark ? [Enter, pause, turn right and left, advance, and, in 
the sweet voice of melancholy, sing. With clasped hands, move 
the head, limp, in a half-circle, backward.} 

[Sing.] 






EEE3 



^^^ 



How should I your true love know 



From an 






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166 



HELEN POTTER'S 



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By his coc - kle hat 
I 



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^^. 



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shoon. 



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[Hold up the hands as if about to speak, and loait.] 
[Speak.] Say you ? Nay, "^pray oyou | mark. 
[Sing or speak.] 
He is dead and gone, lady, 

He is dead and gone ; 
At his head a grass-green turf. 
At his heels a stone. 
[Pause, turn about as if addressing the Queen.] 
[Speak.] Pray you | mark — 



[Sing.' 



IMPERSONA TIONS, 



167 



ijVr=:§ir=zzzzif 






White his shroud as the mountain snow, Lard - ed, 



fe^£^= ^^ 



:ii^ 



tg^ 



={: 



with sweet flowers, Which be - wept to the grave did 



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[Ooss o?^er as ifk) speak to the King, and put out hand.] 
[Speak.] Heaven shield you ! [Nod confidentially/ and con- 
tinue.] They say the °owl \ (y) Avas a baker's | "daughter. 
We know, what we are, but know not \ what we "-may ^be- 



168 



HELEN POTTER'S 



[Turn away and o'eturn.] Pray, | let's have no words | of 
this ; but when they ask you what it meaiis, say you this : 

[^ing.] 






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yom* window, To be your Va - len - tine 




IMPERSONA TIONS. 



169 



\Bow loWf swaying right and left ; adcance, keeping time by 
graceful dancing ; pause ; mote the hands before the eyes as if 
brushing away a mist, then throw up the hands and laugh, as 
if you saw something mid-air, and was reaching for it; pause, 
draw back of hand across eyes, and shiver.] 

[Speak.] I hope | all will be well, | ^we must be °patieiit ; 
[wrap arms close about the body] but I cannot choose but 
weep [weep] to think | that they should lay him i' the cold 
ground. [Shake head.] My | brother shall know of it, 
[tu7m to King] and so | I thank you | for your counsel. 
°Come, ^my °coach ! Good-night | ladies^ | [bowing] good- 
night I (xKsweet ^ladies ! °Good-[hold ''good''] ^night | 
{q.) good-night ! [Exit, kissing hands to them.] 

PART SECOND. 

[Re-enter, decked with long wheat-straws and ficm&rs. Sob 
and moan softly ; then sadly sing.] 



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170 HELEN rOTlEKS 

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For bon - ny sweet Ko - bin is ail my joy. 



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\_Mom forward, and hold out flowers to someone; courtesy; 
move the hands through the air, feather motion.'] 

[Speali,'] Down-a-down, an' you call him a-down-a. Oh, 
how the wheel becomes it ! It is the false steward, that 
stole his master's daughter. [Hand some flowefrs to one, 
saying.} There's rosemary, | °that's ^for re°membrance ; 
pray you, love, remember ; and [p'j?>e wore flowers and let 
them fall,] there's pansies, | that's for thoughts. [Half 
whisper.] Oh, yes ! oh, yes ! oh, yes ! [running down the 
scale, and nodding the head each time. Go over a few steps and 
hand herbs and flower's to the King ; go on still further and hand 
some to the Queen.] There's fennel for °you, ^and (\) 
°columbines. [To the Queen.] There's rue | ^for °you, 
[pause] ^and here's some | for me; we may call it | (/) 
herb o' grace | o' Sundays. You may wear your °rue | 
with "difference. There's a daisy. [Hold the flmoer high 
and look at it.] I would give you some violets, | but they 
withered | all | ^when my "father °died. [Weeping.] They 
say he made a °good ^end. [Sway to and fro, marking time 
with graceful dancing -steps, laughing softly all the time ; then 
kneel and sing. Rise at ^' his beard,'' etc.] 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 



171 



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\Mom toward doar, arid sing with back to audience.] And 
with all Christian souls ! I pray heaven ! [Exit. Turn 
head and shoulders to audience, with hands heavenward, and 
laugh softly as you go.] 



For sketch of Mrae. Modjeska see Pag-e 76. 

Of Ophelia, Sir Joshua Reynolds says: "There is no part in this 
play, in its representation on the stag-e, more pathetic than this scene, 
which, I suppose, proceeds from the utter insensibility Ophelia has 
to her own misfortunes. A great sensibility, or none at all, seems to 
produce the same effect. In the latter, the audience supply what she 
wants ; and with the former, they sympathize." 

CosTUMB AND RENDITION. — The dress may be what you please, so 
it be youthful and simple. Soft g-ray or white g-oods, with no stiffness 



174 HELEN POTTER'S 

anywhere, quite plain, oi- delicately ornamented, is sufficient. Tlie 
hair is flowing, or loose and caught up prettily. 

In rendering these scenes, assume a gentle madness, and make 
sudden transitions from sadness to lightness, and, in one or two in- 
stances, even frivolity. The directions herein given for action follow 
the manner of Mme. Modjeska, but not literally. Much of the ex- 
quisite expression and action cannot be written. Her rendition of 
Ophelia, once seen, can never be forgotten. 



ALL. 



BY FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE. 



There hangs a sabre, and there a rein, 
With rusty buckle and green curb-chain ; 
A pair of spurs on the old gray wall. 
And a mouldy saddle, — well, that is all. 

Come out to the stable ; it is not far, 
The moss-grov^n door is hanging ajar. 
Look within ! There's an empty stall. 
Where once stood a charger, — and that is all. 

The good black steed came riderless home. 
Flecked with blood-drops as well as foam. 
Do you see that mound, where the dead leaves fall ? 
The good black horse pined to death — that's all. 

All ? God ! it is all T can speak. 

Question me not, — I am old and weak. 

His saddle and sabre hang on the wall. 

And his horse pined to death — I have told you all. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 175 



DOGBERRY AND VERGES. 



A Stady from " Much Ado About Nothing." — Shakespeare. 



Argument. — Dog-berry and. Verges are two ignorant, conceited con- 
stables who mutilate their words. Dogberry calls " assembly " 
dissemhly ; "treason" perjury; "calumny" burglary; "condem- 
nation " vedeTwptioii ; etc. 

Act III., Scene III. — A Street. Enter Dogberry and Verges, with 
the Watch. 

Dogh. {/) o^ ^^ y^^ good men | and true ? 

Verg. SYea, or else it were pity | but they should suffer 
salvation, body and soul. 

Dogt. oNay °that were a ^punishment | too °good ^for 
them. I if they should have any ^ariegiance ^in °them, | 
being chosen^ | for the prince's °watch. 

Verg. # Well, give them their chai-ge, neighbor Dogberry. 

Dogh. oFirst, | °who ^think °ycu | the mcst ^de°sartjess \ 
°man | ^to be "constable ? 

1st Watch. Hugh °Oatcake, ^sir, | or George "Sea^coal, | 
for they | can ^write and °read. 

Dogh. Come °hither, | ^neighbor Seacoal. °God(/')hath 
blessed you | with a °good ^name ; to be a well °favored 
Qnian | is the gift ^of "fortune ; ^but to "write and read | 
comes by "nature. 

2d Watch. ( — ) Both which, master constable — 

Dogh. (\) "You have ; I knew it would be your ansv/er. 
Well, I for your favor, sir, ^why, give "God ^thanks, | and 
make no "boast ^of it ; ^and for your "reading | ^and "writ- 
ing, I let "that ^appear | when there is no "need ^of such 
vanity. ^You are "thought ^here | to be the most ^sense- 

* Dofrbeny speaks in a, roii!^!! or guttural voice, and puITs ; Verges in a thin, 
high and sharp voice; 2d Watch, nasal. 



176 HELEN POTTERS 

°less\ ^and°fitm-an | >rthe °con^sta°bie | ^of the °° watch; 
^there°fore, | ^bear °you | ^the "lantern. °This ^is | oyour 
"charge : You shall °co'm^pre°kend \ all | vagfom | °ineh ; 
^you are to bid °any ^man °6tand, | ^in the °prince's °narae . 

2d Watch. (- -) How if he will not stand ? 

Dogb. oWhy, th^, | take no °note of him, | but let him 
°go; and ''preSoent°ly | calltherestof the watch tog eth'er, | 
and °thank ^God | you are °rid ^of a °knave. 

Verg. S If he will not stand | when he is "bid^den, (/) he 
is none (/) of the prince's | "subjects. 

Dogh. °True, | ^and they are to "med^ole | ^with none | 
^but the "prince's "subjects. You shall also | make no 
^noise | ^in the "struts ; "for, ^for the "watch to Qbab"ble 
^and "talk, "is ^most °tolerable \ ^and "not to be | Qen°dured. 

2d Watch. We will rather sle'ep than talk ; we know what 
belongs to a watch. 

Dogh. Wliy, | you speak | ^like an "an^cient | and most 
"quiet "watchnaan ; for I cannot see | how "sleepQiiig should 
^of°fend ; ^on^Xj, \ have a ^care | ^that your "bills ^be not 
stolen. Well, | you are to "call | ^at "all ^the "ale ^houses, | 
and bid those that are "drunk | ( \ ) get to bed. 

2d Watch. How if they will not ? 

Dogh. oWhy, th'en, | let them alone | till they are "sofier ; 
if they make you not "then | the better "an^swer, | "you 
^may "say, | ^they are "not ^the "men | ^you "took ^them for. 

2d Watch. Well, sn\ 

Dogh. "If ^you "meet ^a "thief, | ^you may ^sus°pect 
^him, I ^by virtue of your "of^fice, | ^to be | "no "true "man ; 
^and, for "such "kind ^of "men, | the "less ^you "meddle ^or 
"make ^with "them, | ^why, | ^the "more ^is for your 
"honesty. 

2d Watch. (- -) If we know him to be a thief, shall we 
not lay hands on him ? 

Dogh. ^Truly, | by virtue of your "of^fi^e, | ^you "may ; 
^but'l "think | they that touch "pitch | ^will be ^de°filed. 



IMPERSONATIONS. Vll 

The most "peaceable ^way for you, | ^if you °do ^take a 
°thief, I ^is I to °let him ^show Qhim°self what he ^is", | and 
°steal out of your "company. 

Y&rg. If You have been always called | a "merciful man, 
partner. 

Bogh. Truly, I would not hang a dog | by my will ; | 
much more a nian, | (--) who hath any (\ ) "honesty in him. 

Yerg.%\i you hear a child cry in the nigtt, | you must 
call to the nurse, | and bid her "still it. 

2(^ 'Watch. ( — ) How if the nurse be asleep, and will not 
hear us ? 

Bogh. oWhy, "then, | depart in peace, | and let the child 
wake her | ^with "crying-; (/) for the ewe | that will not 
hear her lamb when it °5^s, | oWill "never answer ^a "calf ( 
^when it °bleats. 

Verg. S 'Tis very true. 

Bogb. "This is the ^end | of your "charge. "You, oCon- 
stable, I are to present | the prince's own "person ; (/) if 
you meet | ^the "prince {/) in the night, | ^you may 
(\) "stay him. 

Verg. « N^, "by 'r lady, | "that, | J "think, | ^he 
Qcan°not. 

Bogb. (\) "Five shillings to one "on't, | with "any man | 
^that '^knows | ^the ° statues, \ Jie may (\) "stay him. 
^Mar°ry, | not without the prince be "willing; for, (/) in- 
deed, I the "watch | ^ought to offend "no ^maii ; and it is 
an Qof"fence | to "stay ^a "man | "against his "will. 

Verg. »By 'r lady, | I think, it be "so. 

Bogb. Ha, ha, ha! "Well, ^mas°ters, (\) good-night; 
^an' there be any matter of "weight ^chan"ces, call up °me. 
Keep your fellows' "c'oun'sel | and your "own, and (\) "good- 
night. Come, neighbor. 

2d Watch. (- -) Well, masters, we hear our charge ; let 
us go sit here | upon the church-bench | till two, | and 
then I all to bed. 



178 HELEN POTTER'S 

Dogh. [returning']. (\) °Oiie word more, ^honest neigh- 
bors ; {/)! pray you | watch about Signioi Leonato's door; 
for the wedding being there to-morrow, there is a great 
°coil oto-°night. Adieu-; °be vigilant, I ^be^seech you. 
[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges.] 



LA MUSICA TRIOaFASTE 



BY T. W. PARSONS. 



In the storm, in the smoke, in the fight I come 

To help thee, dear, with my fife and my drum. 

My name is Music ; and when the bell 

Rings for the dead man, I rule the knell. 

And whenever the mariner wrecked, through the blast. 

Hears the fog-bell sound — it was I who passed. 

The poet hath told you how I, a young maid. 

Came fresh from the gods to the myrtle shade ; 

And thence, by a power divine, I stole 

To where the waters of the Mincius roll. 

Then down by Clitumnus and Arno's vale 

I wandered, passionate and pale, 

Until I found me at sacred Rome, 

Where one of the Medici gave me a home. 

Leo— great Leo— he worshipped me. 

And the Vatican stairs for my foot were free ; 

And now I come to your glorious land, 

Grive me good greeting with open hand. 

Remember Beethoven — I gave him his art — 

And Sebastian Bach, and superb Mozart: 

Join those in my worship ! and when you go 

"Wherever their mighty organs blow. 

Hear in them Heaven's trumpets to men below. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 179 



BEATRICE, 



From "Much Ado about NoTiiiNa." — Shakespeare. 



A STUDY OF MISS ADELAIDE NEILSON. 



ilSGUMENT. — Beatrice, the witty and beautiful niece of Leonato, Gov- 
ernor of Messina, meets Benedick, a wild and witty young- lord of 
Padua, who has vowed never to marry. Each is made to believe 
the one in love with the other ; and, beginning- in raillery, they end 
in true love and marriag-e. 



Act II., Scene I. — A room in Leonato's house. 

Leonato. Was not Count John at supper ? 

Antonio. I saw him not. 

Beatrice. Hoy/ (\) °tartly that gentleman looks ! I never 
can see him | but Fm °heart-^buriTe(i an hour after. 

Hero. He is of a very (\) ^melancholy | ^disposition. 

Beat. He were an Qex°cellent ma'n, | that were made just 
in the °midQway, | between him | and (\) °Benedick. 
^The °one | is too like an image, | and says ^nothing ; | and 
the °other, | too like my lady's eldest son, | °evermore 
^tattling. 

Leon. (--) Then | half Signior Benedick's tongue | in 
Count John's mouth, and half Count John's melancli^ly | in 
Signior Benedick's fa'ce — 

Beat, (q.) [laughing]. With a good leg, and a good foot, 
uncle, and (\) °money enough (/) ^in his purse, | such a 
man | would win °any woinan in the world, | (q.) if he could 
[laughing] get her good-^ill. 

Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get thee a 
husband, if thou be so shrev/d of thy tongue ! 

Beat, [sighing]. (/) For the which Qbless°ing, | I am at 



180 HELEN POTTERS 

heaven | upon my knees | every morning | and evening. 
Lord, I could not en°dure a husband | (\) °with a beard 
on his face ! 

Eeon. You may light upon a husband | that hath °no 
^beard. 

Beat, (\) °What should I do (/) „with him ? dress him 
in my apparel, | and make him my waiting gentle woroaii ? 
lie that hath a beard, is more than a youth ; and he that 
hath no beard, is less than a man ; and he that is more than 
a youth | is not for me ; and he that is les"s than a man, | 
°I am not for him. 

Ant. \to Hero]. Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by 
your father. 

Beat. ( \ ) ° Yes, faith ; it is my cousin's duty to make 
[courtesy'] courtesy, | and say, " Father, [drawing out the 
words] as it please yoTi ; " [cross to the right] but yet for all 
that, co'usin, let him be a (\) °handsome ^fellow, | or else 
make anotlie"r [cov/rtesy] courtesy, and say, " Father, (q.) as 
it please me.'' 

Leon. °Well, ^niece, I hope to see you one day | fitted 
with a °husband. 

Beat. Not till heaven make men of some °other ^metal | 
than °e"arth. Would it not grieve a woman | to be over- 
mastered with a piece of valiant dust ? °To make ac^unt 
of her life | to a clod | of wayward niarl ? °No, ^uncle, 
(\) °ril none : °Adam's solTs are my brethren, and truly, 
(g.) I hold it a sin | to match in my kindi^. [Laughing.] 

Leon. Daughter, | remember what I told you : if the 
Prince do solicit you | in that kind, you know your answers. 

Beat. The fault | will be in the °music, ^cousm, | if you 
be not wooed in good time. If the Prince be too impor- 
tant, I tell him ] there is measure in everything, | and so 
(\) °dance out | the answer. For, (\) °hear me, | Hero; | 
wooiiigj I wedding, | and repenting, | is as a Scotch jig, a 
measure, and a cinque-pace. The fiirst suit | is hot and 



IMPERSONATIONS. 181 

(g.) hasty, like a Scotch jig, | and full as fantastical; the wed- 
ding, (\) ° mannerly ^modest, as a measure full of state | 
and ancientry; oand °then | comes Qre°pentance, | and 
with his bad legs, | falls into (g.) the cinque-pace | faster 
and faster, | until he sink | into his grave. [Shake the head, 
and cross to the other side.] 

Leon. Cousin, | you apprehend | ^passing | °shrewdly. 

Beat, [lightly and high]. I have a °good °eye, ^uncle ; I 
can see a | church | [laughing] by ^day^light. 
[Exit laughing.] 



THE SEA BIRD'S FATE 



BY JOHN BOYLE O REILLY. 



A soft-breasted bird from the sea 

Fell in love with the light-house flame, 

And it wheeled round the tower on its airiest wing. 

And floated and cried like a love-lorn thing ; 

It brooded all day, and fluttered all night. 

But could "win no look from the steadfast light. 

For the flame had its heart afar — 

Afar with the ships at sea ; 

It was thinking of children and waiting wives. 

And darkness and danger to sailors' lives. 

But the bird had its tender bosom pressed 

On the glass, where at last it dashed its breast. 

The light only flickered, the brighter to glow ; 

But the bird lay dead on the rocks below. 



182 HELEN POTTEli'S 

PETER GRAY AHD LIZIANHY QUERL 

My song is of a nice young man 
Whose name was Peter Gray ; 

The state where Peter Gray was born 
Was Penn-syl-va-ni-a. 

This Peter Gray did fall in love 

All with a nice young girl ; 
The name of her I'm positive 

Was Lizianny Querl. 

When they were going to be wed 

Her father he said, '' No ! " 
And brutally did send her off 

Beyond the 0-hi-o. 

When Peter foimd his love was lost 

He knew not what to say ; 
He'd half a mind to jump into 

The Sus-que-han-ni-a. 

A- trading went he to the west, 

For furs and beaver skins. 
And there he was in crimson dressed 

By bloody In-ji-ins ! 

When Lizy heard the awful news, 
She straightway went — to bed. 

And never did get off of it 
Until she di-i-ed. 

Ye fathers all, a warning take, 

Each one as has a girl, 
And think upon poor Peter Gray 

And Lizianny Querl ! 



Lize-anny Kurl. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 183 



PRIHCE ARTHUR 



A study from ** King John." — Shakespbabe. 



Argument. — King John conspired with Hubert, the keeper of young- 
Prince Arthur, to murder the boy, and Hubert enii^loyed two ruf- 
fians to bui-n out both of the prince's eyes with red-hot irons. 
Arthur plead so loving-ly with Hubert to spare his eyes, that he 
relented and concealed him, pretending- that he was dead. 



Act IV., Scene I. — Northampton. A room in the castle. Enter 
Hubert and executioners. 

Huh. ( — ) ^Heat me these irons hot; and look | thou 
stand 
Within the arras. When I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, | rush forth 
And bind the boy | ^which you shall find wi' me | 
(\) °Fast to the chair ; | be "heed^ful ; | hence, | and watch. 

lit Execu. (gut.) I hope your warrant will bear out the 
deed. 

Hub. (\) ^Uncleanly scruples! (\) °fear not you;\ 
look to't. [Exeunt executioners.'] 

° Young lad | come forth ; I have to (\) °say with you. 
[Enter Arthur.] 

Arth. (p.) °Good-morro\v, °Hul5ert. 

Hub. (\) °Good-morrow | Jittle prin'ce. 

Arth. (p.) °As little °prince (\) °as may be. 
(\) You are sad. 

Hub. ^Indeed, (\) °I have been |] merrier. 

Arth. (p.) (\) °Mercy on me ! 
Methinks nobody should be sad but I. 
Yet I remember when I was in France, \ 
Young gentlemen would be sad | as night | 
Only for wantonness. (\) By my Christendom, 



184 HELEN POTTERS 

So I were out of prison, | and kept sheep, | 

I should be as merry \ as the day is long ; | 

And so I would be h&re^ \ but that I doubt 

My uncle practises ^more (/ ) harm to me. 

He is afraid of ine, and I | of ''him. 

Is it my fault | that I was ( / ) Jeffrey's son ? 

No, indeed, | it's not; and I would to heaven | 

I were °your ^son, so you would °love me, °Hubert. 

Hub. [aside]. J.i I talk to him, | with his innocent prate, 
He will awake my °mercy, ^which lies dead ; 
Therefore | I will be °sudden and despatch. 

Arth. (p.) „Are you °sick, | °Hubert ? You look (\) 
°pale to-day ; 
In sooth, I I would you were a little sick, | 
That I might sit all night | (\) °and watch wdth you. 
I warrant I love you | more than you do me. 

Hub. [aside]. ^His words | dotakepossessionof my bosom. 
(\) °°Read here, | young Arthur. [Shows a paper.] 
[Aside.] qHow now, | foolish °rheum ? 
Turning dispiteous torture | out of door ! 
I must I be brief, | lest resolution drop | 
Out at mine eyes | in tender womanish tears. 
°°Can you not ^read °it ? (/) Is it not fair writ ? 

Arth. (p.) (\) Too fairly, Hubert, | for so foul effect. 
(\) °Must you I with hot irons | burn out both mine 
eyes ? | 

Hub. ^Young boy, | I must. 

Arth. {p.) °And ^will joii ? 

Hub. °And J °will ! 

Arth. [plaintive]. Have you the heart? When your head 
did but ache, 
I knit my handkerchief about your brows, | 
^The best I fiad, | (^a °princess (/) ^wrought it me) 
And I did never ask it you again ; 
And with my hand at midniglit | held your head, 



IMPERSONATIONS, 185 

And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, | 

Still and anon | cheered up the heavy time 

Saying, °What ^lack °you ? and ° Where lies your grief ? 

Or, °What good love | may I perform for f^ ? 

Many a poor man's son | would have lain still. 

And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; | 

^But °yau, | (/) ^at your sick service, (\) °had Si prince. 

°Nay, I you may think my love was ° crafty love, 

( \ ) And call it °cunning ; do, an' if you will. 

If heaven be pleased | that you must use me ill 

°Why, I ^then, | jo{i°must. (\) Will you put out mine eyes? 

These eyes | that never did, nor never °s£all 

So much I as (\) °frown on you ? 

Hub. qqI have sworn to do it ; | 
And with hot irons | must I | burn them | out. 

Artk. (^^) Ah, none but in this iron age would do it ! 
^The °iron „of itself, tho' heat red-°hot, | 
Approaching near these eyes, | would drink my tears 
And quench his fiery indignation. 
Even in the matter | of mine innocence ; 
Nay, °after °that, | consume away in rust, 
But for QCon°tainiiig ^five | to (\) "harm mine eyes. 
Are you \ more stubborn hard than hammer'd iron ? 
An' if an °angel should ^have °come to °me, | 
And told me | Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
I would not have believed no tongue | but ^Hubert's ! 

Hub. °°Come forth ! [Stamps.] 

[Re-enter executioners with a cord, irons, etc.] 
Do as I bid you. 

Arth. [cries]. {^-^) °0h, save me, Hubert, °save me ! my 
eyes are out 
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 

Hub. (\) °°Give me the iron, | I say, | and °bind him 
here. 

Arth. (^^^) Alas, why need you be so boisterous rough ? 



186 HELEN POTTER'S 

(\) °I will not I "struggle, I will stand °stone still. 

°For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me ""not be °bouiid. 

(j) Nay I "Aear me | °°Hubei't, | °drive these men away | 

And I will sit as quiet | ( \) as a lamb ; 

I will not stir, | nor wince, | nor speak a w"ord, | 

Nor look upon the iron angei'ly ; 

Thrust but these °men Qa°way, and I'll for°give you | 

QWhat°ever ^torment ( ) you do put me to. 

Huh. °°Go stand within ; let me (\) °alone with him. 

\8t Execu. {gut.) I am best pleased to be from such a 
deed. [Exeunt executioners.'] 

Arth. o Alas, | I then ( / ) have chid away my ° friend, 
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart ; 
°Let him come back, that his compassion may give life to 
yours. 

Huh. °°Come, boy, prepare yourself ! 

Arth. (-^v/^) (\) °Is there no remedy ? 

Huh. °°None, but to lose your eyes. 

Arth. i''^^) Oh, heaven, | that there were but a °mote I 
in yours ; 
A grain, | a dust, | a gnat, | a wandering hair, 
°Any annoyance | in that precious sense ! 
Then, feeling what small things {/) are "boisterous there, 
Your vile intent | must needs seem | "horrible. 

Huh. ""Is this (/) „your promise? Go to | (\) "hold 
your tongue. 

Arth. "Hubert, | the utterance of a (\) "brace of tongues 
( — ) Must needs want pleading | for a pair of "eyes. 
Let me (\) "not hold my tongue, | "let me not, | Hubert; 
Or I Hubert, | if you "will, | cut "out ^my "tongue. 
So I may keep (\) "mine eyes. [Kneeling.] "spare 

mine eyes ; 
Though to no use, | but still | to look on "you. (') 

(1) Put out your luiad to touch tUe iron and withdraw it quickly. 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 187 

]^Surprk(id.'\ Lo, by my troth, | the instrument is °cold, and 

would not °harm me. [Rkes.^ 

Hub. oqI can °heat it, bo}^ 

Arth. (\) °No, I in ^gcod sooth; | the °fire (/) ^is 
dead wi' °grief, 
Being create for "com^fort, | to be used 
In undeserved extremes ; see else (\) °yourself. 
There is °no ^mpJice | in this burning °coal ; 
The breath of heaven | hath blown his °spirit °out, 
And strewed repentant | ^ashes on his head. 

Hub. ooBut with my breath | (\) I can re°vive it, | °boy. 

Arth. (/) qAu' if you do.. | you will but make it blush | 
And glow with °shame | ^oi your (\) "proceedings, | 

Hubert, 
All things that you should °use | to do ^me ° wrong", 
(\) °Deny their office; | only °you | do lack 
That mercy | which fierce °fire | and (\) °iron ^extends. 

Hub. o^Well, I see | to live. ( — ) "I will not touch thine 
eyes 
(- -) For all the treasure | that thine uncle owes. 
Yet I am I s\vo'rn, | and did "purpose, | ob'oy, 
°With this same | °very iron | ^to burn them out. 

Afth. [joyously]. ! now | you look like Hubert ; 
All this while, | you were odis°guised. 

Hub. [tone of secrecy']. Peace ! no more, | adieii ! 
(- -) oYour uncle | must not know | but you are "dead. 
I'll fill these dogged spies | with false reports. 
And, I opretty "child, | sleep | doubtless and seciire. 
That Hub'ert, | for the wealth | of all the "world, | will not 
oifend thee. 

Arth. (\) "0 heaven! (\) "I thank you, Hubert! 

Hub. (Sh !) ^Silence ! {asp.) No more ; {8h !) Go closely 
in with me. 
^Much "danger (/) do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt.] 



188 HELEN POTTERS 



A LITERARY CURIOSITY 



A lady of San Francisco is said to have occupied several yeare in 
hunting- up and litting- together the following thirty-eight lines from 
thirty-eight poets. The names of the authors are^g-iven^with each 
line. 

LIFE. 

Why all this toil for triumph of an hour ? Young. 
Life's a short summer, man a flower ; Dr. Johnson. 
By turn we catch the vital breath and die, Pope. 
The cradle and the tomb, alas ! so nigh, Pnor. 
To be is better far than not to be, Sewell. 
Though all man's life may seem a tragedy ; Spencer. 
But light cares speak when mighty griefs are dumb, Daniel. 
The bottom is but shallow whence they come. Raleigh. 
Your fate is but the common fate of all ; Longfellow. 
Unmingled joys, here, no man befall. Souihioell. 
Nature to each allots his proper sphere, Congrew. 
Fortune makes folly her peculiar care. Churchill. 
Custom does not often reason overrule, Rochester. 
And throws a cruel sunshine on a fool. Armstrong. 
Live well, how long or short, permit to heaven ; Milton. 
They who forgive most shall be most forgiven. Bailey. 
Sin may be clasped so close we cannot see its face ; Trench. 
Vile intercourse where virtue has not place ; Som&i'ville. 
Then keep each passion down, however dear, Thompson. 
Thou pendulum, betwixt a smile and tear. Byron. 
Her sensual snares let faithless pleasure lay, 8mollet. 
With craft and skill to ruin and betray. Crahbe. 
Soar not too high to fall, but stoop to rise, 3Iassinger. 
We masters grow of all that we despise. Cowley. 
then, renounce that impious self-esteem, Beattie. 
Eiches have wings and grandeur is a dream. Cooper, 



IMPERSONATIONS. 189 

Think not ambition wise because 'tis brave, Datenant. 
The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Gray. 
What is ambition ? 'tis a glorious cheat, Willis. 
Only destruction to the brave and great. Addison. 
What's all the gaudy glitter of a crown ? Dryden. 
The way to bliss lies not on beds of down. Quarks. 
How long we live, not years, but actions tell ; Watki^is. 
That man lives twice who lives the first life well. Herrick. 
Make, then, while yet we may, your God your friend. Mason, 
Whom Christians worship, yet not comprehend. Hill. 
The trust that's given guard, and to yourself be just ; Dana. 
For, live we how we can, yet die we must. Shakespeare. 



A PIOUS PUNSTER. 



To church the two together went. 

Both, doubtless, on devotion bent. 

The parson preached with fluent ease. 

On Pharisees and Sadducees. 

And as they homeward slowly walked, 

The lovers on the sermon talked. 

And he — he deeply loved the maid — 

In soft and tender accents said : 

*' Darling, do you think that we 

Are Pharisee and Sadducee ? " 

She flashed on him her bright black eyes 

In one swift look of vexed surprise. 

And thus he hastened to aver 

He was her constant w^orshipper. 

"But, darling, I insist," said he, 

" That you are very fair-I-see. 

I know you don't care much for me, 

And that makes me so sad-you-see." 



190 HELEN POTTER'S 

FOR YOUR OIH SAKES. 



A STUDY OF MISS ANNA DICKINSON. 




[Adapted from one of her popular lectui-es.] 

^HE duties I of huTTzamty and mercj \ can- 
iiot be (id/egated to ^othov^ ; the/eeZing | 
of pefsonal responsibility | cannot be 
° shirked; (--) to look out for the alms- 
houses, I county jails, \ orphans, | out- 
cast and aSa^zdoned women, | belongs 
to ""you I (/) o^^d to me; and must be 
done I hy us, | for our own sakes | as well \ as for the sake \ 
of these sz«/fering {/) ^guilty ones. 

There was, \ in London \ (not many years ago), ^ judge \ 
whose only daughter had reached her ^ma^^'or^ity; this day 
was cefebrated | in a g7'and \ and (\) °prince\y ^manner. 
A.S the girl, \ young, | 5eaMtiful, | clothed in a dress, \ which 
•sven in °that assembly | was a loonder to look upon ; as she 
passed along, | you felt °7io taint | could fall upon °her life, | 
shielded by love, \ and a °home ^like ^thai. 

(--) ^Back of that eZegant home, \ in an alley, \ dark, \ 
woisome, | pestilent, | such as yow find \ in crowded V\\\[didel- 
phia, I and °crowded ^New York, \ dwelt a girl | aZso young 
and 6eawtiful | °as Jhis ""one. She spent her time | stitchmg 
the ro6es | of i!/«ose | who dream not \ ^of °want. This c^iZd | 
of po?5erty and sorrow, | stitched \ into that 07ie \ lovely robe \ 
the seeds of a /owZ disease, | which Avas destined to carry | 
that cherished and beautihil form, | °iwisted in a sheet, | ^to 
her solitary | and°foa^/^some | Q^MriaT. (--)°Wasit«o^Aing | 
to the fond mother, \ the doting father, \ what disease and 
misery | festered \ in adjacent alleys ? 

( — ) oFor the sake of the mother, | whose son is brought 
home I killed \ by an assassin's hand ; | °for the saAe of the 




ANNA DICKINSON. 



i 



K 



IMPERSONA riONS. 191 

merchant, | whose stately 'pile \ is burned \ Joy plundev, \ 
does not seZ/ishness demand \ iiidi^ic^ual work \ and per- 
sonal I responsibility ? ( — ) Does it make any dif feveiice to 
the world, \ who does the work | so long \ as it be done ? 
°iVb, it makes no dif fevence \ °to the ^w&rld; °living or 
^dead, \ the world \ heeds (/) us not. But to us, \ it makes 
a difference \ as great \ as the distance from heaven °to 
^h^fl, I whether we do the work for °our ^selves ; \ whether we 
feed our own souls \ or ^starve °them. ( — ) It does make a 
difference to us, \ whether we discot^er and recognize | the 
claims of righteousness | and (\) °uniwrsal (/) ^brother- 
hood, I or whether ( — ) we wrap our costly | o^obes \ about 
us, I and dream \\ of false peace \ and °se^cu°riiy. 



Miss Anna Dickinson, an American orator and writer, was born in 
Philadelphia, October 28, 1842. She was orig-inally a member of the 
Society of Friends. She gained great distinction during the civil 
war by her public speeches against slavery and disunion, and became 
one of the most popular lecturers in the United States. She after- 
ward appeared as an actress. Her principal public writings are : 
''What Answer?" (1868); "A Paying Investment" (1876) ; and "A 
Ragged Register of People, Places and Opinions" (1879). 

This exti-aordinary and gifted lady, as a platform celebrity, was a 
slender girl of medium size, eloquent, magnetic, and unsurpassed in 
extemporaneous oratory. Her lithe figure, long arms, and luxuriant 
dai'k brown hair, slightly turned at the ends, gave her a dramatic 
appearance to begin with. Her speech was marked by I'ising inflec- 
tions at the end of sentences, the remainder being given in a monot- 
onous tone of voice, with almost rhythmic prolonging of accented 
syllables (see italicized syllables in the text). Her action was pro- 
nounced and also rhythmic or accented. Journeying from right to 
left of the platform, with a halt or swing on each measured step ; 
pushing back, now and then, her heavy locks ; her eyes flashing as 
she coursed from side to side with defiant, accented stride, her hands 
clasped behind her ; or, standing still and resolute as a Napoleon, 
and pointing at a wrong, personified and cowering before her — she 
was the very acme of fiery eloquence, and brought conviction to 
every heart. 

Costume and Rendition. — A plain, rich black or Quaker colored 
silk dress, demi-train ; black boots ; a diamond pin and rings. Her 
costume, at the time of her triumx^hant career as a lecturer, was 
remarkable for its Quaker-like simplicity in color and style. 

This text is adapted from a lecture by Miss Dickinson, called " For 
Your Own Sakes." It should be delivered standing and walking, 
with no desk, no manuscript, and only two chairs in the rear of the 
platform. 



192 HELEN POTTERS 



THE SISTERS 



BY JOHN G. WHITTIER. 



Annie and Rhoda, sisters twain, 

Woke in the night | to the sound of rain. 

The rush of wind, | the tramp and roar 
Of great waves | climbing a rocky shore. 

Annie rose up in her bed-gown white, | 
And looked out | into the storm | and night. 

(p.) " Hush, and harken ! " she cried in fear, 
" Hearest thou nothing, | sister dear ? " 

{Carelesdy .'\ *' I hear the sea, | and the plash of rain, | 
And roar of the north-east hurricane. 

" G-et thee back to the bed so warm. 
No good comes | of watching a storm ; 

" What is it to th^, I fain would know, 

That Avaves are roaring | and wild winds blow ? 

"No lover of thine's afloat | to miss | 
The harbor-lights | on a night like this." 

( jo.) " But I heard a °voice cry out °my name. 
Up from the s'ea | on the wind it came 1 

'' Twice and thri^ | have I heard it call. 

And the voice | is the voice of | Estwick Hall ! " 

On her pillow the sister tossed her head. 
{Impatiently.'] "Hall of the Heron is °sq)^(^," she said. 

" In the tautest schooner that ever swam 
He rides at anchor in Anisquam. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 193 

" And, if in peril from swamping sea 

Or lee shore rocks, | would he call on thee ? " 

But the girl heard only the wind and tide. 

And wringing her small, white hands, she cried : 

[Terror.] "0 sister Rhoda, there's something wrong; 
I hear it again, so loud and long. 

( ' ) " Annie I Annie ! I hear it call. 

And the voice | is the voice of | Estwick Hall ! " 

Up sprang the elder, with eyes aflame, 

" °Thou liest ! He never would call °thy name ! 

" If he °did, | I would pray the wind and sea 
To keep him °forever from th'ee [ and me ! " 

Then out of the sea blew a °dreadful ^blast ; 
Like the cry of a dying man | it passed. 

The young girl hushed on her lips a groan. 
But through her tears | a strange light shone — 

The solemn Joy of her heart's release 
To own and cherish its love | in peace. 

(asjo.) "Dearest!" | she whispered, under breath, C) 
" Life was a lie; | but true is death. 

" The love I hid from myself away 

Shall °crown me now | in the light of day. 

" My ears shall never | to wooer list. 
Never | by lover | my lips be kissed. 

" °Sacred to ^tliee | ( ' ) am I °hence Jorth, 
Thou in heaven | and I | on earth ! " 

(^) " Annie " should be prolonged, running: up two or three notes and dowoi 
again, in imitation of the roar of the sea or of wind, and in low, steady tone of 
voice, minor key. Repeat, letting the sound die out with the exhausted breath. 

(^) Hands pressed to the bosom. 

(3) Right hand heavenward on "thee." 



194 HELEN POTTER'S 

She came and stood by her sister's bed : 

(- -) " ^Hall of the Heron is dead! " she said. 

" The wind and the waves their work have done, 
We shall see him iio more | beneath the sun. 

" Little will reck that heart of °thine, 

It loved him °not | with a love like mine ; 

" I, I for °kis sake, | were he but here, 
Could hem and 'broider thy \ bridal gear, 

"Though hands should tremble | and eyes be wet, 
And stitch for stitch | in my heart be set. 

" But now I my soul with °his soul I w^d ; 
Thine the liviiig | and mine ( * ) the dead ! " 



AT EVEHIHG 



BY J. T. NEWCOMB. 



The sun had kissed the Western wave, and bade the world 

good-night, 
While in the sky the floating clouds hung blushing at the 

sight. 

The playful ripples dancing came from out the mighty sea, 
And paused a moment on the sands, and kissed them 
tenderly. 

The gentle evening breezes sighed among the bowlders bare, 
And kissed their loneliness away and lingered fondly there. 



A youth beside a maiden walked (I tell no wondrous deed) 
When twilight shadows kissed the shore he followed 
nature's lead. 

(* ) Ilandd clasped and hanging down limp as iu resignation. 




OSCAR WILDE. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 195 



LECTURE ON ART 



A STUDY OF OSCAR WILDE. 



( — ) Everything made by the hand of man | is either 
QUg°ly I or (/) ^beauti^ful ; (--) and it might as well be 
beautiful as (/) o^g^ly- (--) Nothing that is made | is 
°too opoor [pooah], | or °too (/) Qtrivi°al, | (--) to be made 
with an idea [ideah], | of pleasing the aesthetic oeye. 

"Americans, | ^as a class, | °are not (/) ^practical, 
(--) though you may laugh | at the {/) ^assertion. 
(- -) When I enter [entah] | a room, | I see a carpet of 
(\) vulgar [vulgah] (/) ^pattern, | (- -) a cracked plate 
upon the (/) ^wal], | (--) with a peacock feather stuck 
"be^hind °it. (- -) I sit down | upon a badly glued | ma- 
chine-made (/) ^chair [chaah], | that creaks | upon being 
(/) ^touched; | (--) I see | a gaudy gilt horror, | in the 
shape I of a (/) ^mirror, | ( — ) and a cast-iron monstros- 
ity I for a °chande^lier. (- -) Everything I see | was made 
to (/) ^^ell. (--) I turn to look for the beauties of nature 
[natyah] | in (/) vain; | ( — ) for I behold only muddy 
streets | and (\) ugly (/) Qbuild°ings; (--) everything 
looks (\) second (/) class. (--) By second class | I mean | 
that I which constantly decreases °in {/) ^'calue. ( — ) The 
old Gothic cathedral is firmer [firmah] and (/) stronger 
[strongah], | and more [moah] beautiful ^now \ than it 
was I years | [yeahs] (/) ^ago. (--) There is one thing 
worse I than °%o ( / ) ^art | and that is | Jbad °art. 

(- -) A good rule to follow | in a house | is to have noth- 
ing therein | but what is useful | or (/) ^beautiful ; | 
(- -) nothing that is not pleasant to use, | or was not a 
pleasure | to the one | who [/) ^made °it. (- -) Allow no 
machine-made ornaments | in the house | at {/) ^2^. 



196 HELEN POTTER'S 

(--) Don't paper your [youah] halls, | but have them 
(/) ^wain°scoted, | or provided | with a (/) ^dado. 
( — ) Don't hang them with pictures, | as they are only | 

(/) Qpassage-°ways. ( ) Have some definite idea 

[ideah], | of qCoIoT [culah], (--) some dominant | key- 
note I of (/)QColor [culah], ( — ) or exquisite graQda°tion, | 
like the answering calls | in a symphony | of (/) ^music. 
There are symphonies | of color [culah], | as (\) well as 
of I (/) ^sound. I will describe | one of Mr. Whistler's | 
symphonies in color — ( — ) a symphony | in white. A pic- 
ture [pictchah], representing | a gray and white sky [skei]; 
a gray sea, flecked with the white crests of (\) °dancing 
(/) ^waves ; | a white (/) Qbalco°ny | with two little chil- 
dren in white, | leaning over [ovah] the (/) ^raiFing, | 
( — ) plucking I with white (/) ^fingers [finggahs], | the 
white petals | of an almond tree | ( / ) in bloom. 

(- -) The truths of art | cannot | ( / ) be taught. ( — ) They 
are revealed | only | to natures [natyahs] which have made 
themselves receptive | of all | (\) "beautiful {/) ^impres- 
sions I by the study, | and the worship of | all | beautiful | 
(/) ^things. ( — ) Don't take your [youah] critic | as any 
sure [shuah] test | of (/) ^art ; for artists, | like the Greek 
gods, I are only revealed | to one (/) ^another [anothah]. 
The true critic | addresses | °no/^the(/)oartist | (/')et'er, | 
but the public. His work | is with (/) ^them. Art | can 
have no other [othah] aim | but her own °perQfec°tion. 

( — ) Love art | for its own sake, | and then | all these 
things I shall be (/) ^added °to you. (--) This devotion 
to beauty | and to the creation of beautiful thiiigs, | is the 
test I of all I great | °civiliQza°tioiis. ( — ) It is what makes 
the life | of each citizen | a sacrament | and °not | a °spec- 
UQla°tion ; for beauty | is the only thing | time | cannot 
harm. Philosophies may fall away | °like the ( / ) ^sand ; 
creeds | follow one °an,^oth°er ; | but what is beautiful | is 
a joy for all seasons, a possession | for all | °eQter°nity. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 197 

(--) National hatreds | are always strongest | where cul- 
ture [cultchah] I is (/) ^lowest ; but art | is an empire | 
which a nation's enemies | cannot | take (/) ^from °her. 

(_ _) ^e I in our Renaissance | are seeking to create a 
sovereignty | that shall °still be (/) ^England's | when her 
yellow leopards | are weary of wars [w^ahs], | (--) and the 
rose I on her shield | is crimsoned °no (/)Qmore [moah] | 
with the blood | of (/) ^bat°tle. And °you, | „too, j 
(- -) absorbing | into the heart of a great people | this per- 
vading artistic (/) oSpirit, will create for your- [youah] 
selves I °such ^riches | as you have never [nevah] yet | 
°creQa°ted, | though your [youah] land | be a network of 
(/) ^railways, | and your [youah] cities | the harbors | of 
the galleys | of the (/) ^ world. 



Oscar Wilde, an Irish poet, a son of Sir William Wilde, was 
born in Dublin, October 16, 1856. He studied at Trinity College, 
Dublin, and at Mag-dalen College, Oxford, where he was graduated 
in 1878. He was a pupil of Ruskin, and the friend and travelling 
companion of Prof. Mahaffy, with whom he visited Greece. After his 
college days he became noted as an apostle of sestheticism in dress, 
mannei*s, and literature. He was christened Oscar O'Flahertie Fingal 
Wills. 

CosTDMB. — A dark purple velvet sack coat, and knee-breeches; 
black hose, low shoes with bright buckles ; coat lined with lavender 
satin, a frill of rich lace at the wrists and for tie-ends over a low 
turn-down collar ; hair long, and parted in the middle, or all combed 
over. Enter with a circular cavalier cloak over the shoulder. The 
voice is clear, easy, and not forced. Change pose now and then, 
the head inclining towai-d the strong foot, and keep a general appear- 
ance of repose. 

This disciple of true art speaks very deliberately, and his speech 
is marked by transitions, as marked by the small signs (q) (°) 
throughout the text ; the closing inflection of a sentence or period is 
ever upward. 




198 HELEN POTTERS 



IKE PARTINGTON AFTER THE OPERA. 



Note. — The following- sketch can be made vei-y amusing* by imitating 
the manner of an opera- singer. Suit your own voice as to the 
manner of rendering it. Tenoi', contralto, or basso will do,, but not 
soprano, unless you substitute an opera-mad girl for Ike. Sing 
softly at first, and vary the style and expression ; at the same time 
increase in action and force to the very last. An anti-climax would 
spoil it entirely. The more you repeat and trill, or attempt to 
trill, toward the close, the better. 

Since the night when Ike went to the opera, he has been 
" non pompous mentus " through his attempt to imitate the 
" Opera-tions." The morning after the opera, Ike sang 
everything he had to say — ^just as they do in the opera. 
He handed me his cup, and sang softly : 

{pp.) "Will you, will you, Mrs. P., 
Help me to a cup of tea ? " 
I looked at him in surprise, and he went right on 
singing : 

[Brilliant.'] " Do not, do not keep me waiting, 
Do not, pray, be hesitating ; 
I am anxious to be drinking, 
So pour out as quick as winking." 
I gave him the tea, and he stirred it a moment and began 
again : 

[Recitative.] " Table-cloths and cups and saucers, 

Good white bread and active jaws, sirs, 
Tea, Gunpowder and Souchong, 
Sweet enough, but not too strong." 
" Oh, what is the matter," I cried in distress ; " what is 
the matter with the boy ? " 

[Tenor.] "All right, steady, never clearer. 
Never loved a breakfast dearer ; 



IMPERSONATIONS. 199 

{Bramatic^^ I'm not bound by witch or wizzard, 
So don't fret your precious gizzard." 
" But Isaac ! Isaac ! " I cried. He kept right on — with 
his eyes fixed on the table : 

[Tenor.] ''What form is that to me appearing? 

Is it mackerel, or is it herring ? 
[Rob?ist.] Let me dash upon it, quick ; 

Ne'er again that fish shall kick. 
[Dramatic] Charge upon it, charge, Isaac, charge ! " 



APOSTROPHE TO THE lATERIELOH 



Come to the mortal as he sits 

Upon a drygoods box and sips 

The nectar from thy juicy lips ; 

Come to the youngster as he flits 
Across the high and peaked fence 
And moves with ecstacy intense 

Thy charms from off the native vine. 

And thou art terrible ! 

August-born monstrosity ! 

Incarnate colicosity ! 
Beneath thy emerald bosom glow, 

Like glittering bubbles in the wine, 
The lurid fires of deadly woe, 
And from thy fascinations grow 
The pain, the cramp, the pang, the throe- 
And all we fear or dream or know 

Of agony is thine ! 



200 HELEN POTTER'S 

AFTER THE lEDDIMG. 



BY WILLIAM L. KEESE. 



Note. — A lady can make an effective and showy monologue of this 
poem by being dressed as if just from a wedding, wraps and all, 
and proceeding ( during the recitation ) to throw off articles of ap- 
parel and ornaments, finally lowering the lights and sinking- into 
a deep revery. 

All alone in my room, at last ! 

I wonder how far they have travelled now ? 
They'll be far away when the night is past ; 

And so would 1, if I knew but how. 
How lovely she looked in her wreath and dress ! 

She is queenlier far than the village girls ; 
Those were roses, too, in the wreath, I guess — 

They made the crimson among the curls. 

She's good as beautiful, too, they say ; 

Her heart is as gentle as any dove's ; 
She'll be all that she can to him alway — 

Dear ! I am tearing my new white gloves. 
How calm she is, with her saint-like face ! 

Her eyes are violet — mine are blue; 
How careless I am with my mother's lace ! 

Her hands are whiter, and softer, too. 

They've gone to the city beyond the hill, 

They must never come back to this place again ! 

I'm almost afraid to be here so still, 

I wish it would thunder, and lighten, and rain ! 

no ! for some may not be abed, 

Some few, perhaps, may be out to-night ; 

1 hope that the moon will come instead. 

And heaven be starry, and earth all light. 

*Tis only a summer that she's been here — 
It's been my home for seventeen years ! 



IMPERSONATIONS. 201 

But her name is a testament far and near, 

And the poor have embalmed it in priceless tears. 
I remember the day when another came — 

There, at last I have tied my hair — 
Her curls and mine were nearly the same, 

But hers are longer, and mine less fair. 
They're going across the sea, 1 know ; 

Across the ocean — will that be far ? 
Did I have my comb, a moment ago ? 

I seem to forget where my things all are. 
When ships are wrecked do the people drown ? 

Is there never a boat to save the crew ? 
Poor ships ! If ever my ship goes down, 

I'll want a grave in the ocean, too. 

Grood-night, good-night — it is striking one ! 

Good-night to bride, and good-night to groom. 
The light of my candle is almost done — 

I wish my bed was in mother's room. 
How calm it looks in the midnight shade ! 

Those curtains were hung there clean to-day ; 
They're all too white for me, I'm afraid, — 

Perhaps I may soon be as white as they. 

Dark — all dark ! for the light is dead ; 

Father in heaven, may I have rest ! 
One hour of sleep for my weary head. 

For this breaking heart in my poor, poor breast ! 
For his sweet sake do I kneel and pray, 

Gfod protect him from change and ill ; 
And render her worthier every way. 

The older the purer, the lovelier still. 
There, I knew I was going to cry ! 

1 have kept the tears in my soul too long ; 
Oh, let me say it or I shall die ! 

As heaven is witness, I mean no wrong. 



202 HELEN PO TTER' S 

He never shall hear from this secret room, 
He never shall know, in the after years, 

How seventeen summers of happy bloom 
Fell dead one night in a moment of tears ! 

I loved him more than she understands — 

For him I loaded my soul with truth ; 
For him I am kneeling with lifted hands. 

To lay at his feet my shattered youth ! 
I love, I adore him still the same ! 

More than father, and mother, and life ! 
My hope of hopes was to bear his name, 

My heaven of heavens to be his wife ! 

His wife ! — name which the angels breathe, 
Let it not crimson my cheek for shame ; 

'Tis her great glory, her word to wreathe 

In the princely heart from whose blood it came. 

hush ! again I behold them stand. 

As they stood, to-night, by the chancel wall ; 

1 see him holding her white-gloved hand, 

I hear his voice in a whisper fall. 

I see the minister's silver hair, 

I see him kneel at the altar stone, 
I see him rise when the prayer is o'er — 

He has taken their hands and made them one. 
The fathers and mothers are standing near, 

The friends are pressing to kiss the bride ; 
One of those kisses had birthplace here — 

The dew of her lips has not yet dried. 

His lips have touched hers before to-night — 
Then I have a grain of his to keep ! 

This midnight blackness is flecked wdih light, 
Some angel is singing my soul to sleep. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 203 



THE PASSIONS 



BY WILLIAM COLLINS. 



When Music, heavenly maid, | was yoimg, | 

While yet in early Greece she sung, | 

The Passions oft, ] to hear her shell, 

Thronged around her magic cell — 

^Ex^ulting, treinbliii^, (/.) raging, {jp.) faintmg- 

Possessed beyond the Muse's paintiilg ; 

By turns they felt the glowing mind 

(/) Disturbed, „de°lighteH, "raised, °re„fined; 

Till onCe, 'tis said, | when all were fifed. 

Filled with filfy, rapt, inspired, | 

[q.) From the supporting myrtles round 

They snatched her instruments of souiid ; 

(\) °And, ^as they oft had heard apart 

(/) Sweet lessons of her forceful aft, | 

■^Each (for Madness ruled the hour) 

°Would prove his owii | expressive | power. 

( ' ) First °Fear | °his „hand, its skill to try, | 

Amid the chords bewildered ( ^ ) laid, 
And back recoiled, | he knew °not ^why, ( ' ) 

E'en at the sound ( \ ) himself had made. 
(/.) Next Anger rushed ; his eyes, on fire. 

In ^lightnings owned his secret stings : 
(*) (O In one rude clash | he struck the lyre. 

And swept | with hurried hand | the striiigs. 

( 1 ) Fear expressed in aspirate tones. 

( " ) Hold the I in " bewildered." 

( * ) Lot " why " end higher than " not " began. 

( * ) Final explosive stress on the marked words. 



204 HELEN PO TTER S 

( * ) [/S'fo^o.] With woful measures | wan ^De^spair, 

qqLow, sullen sounds his gTief beguiled — 
( — ) A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 

\8low.'\ 'Twas sad by fits', | {q.) by starts | 'twas wild. 
\Qay.'\ But °th*ou, °H6pe, | with eyes °so fair — 

What was °thy ^delightful measure ? 
(p.) [/S'fozo.] Still it whispered | promised pleasiire, 

(/) oAnd bade the lovely scenes at °distaiice | ^Bail ! 
(- -) Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 

And I from the r'ocks, | the woods, | the vale, | 
She called on ""Ecfid °stlll, | through all | the song ; 

And, where her °sweet^t °them:e she °cho'se, 

( ^.) °A soft, responsive voice | was heard at eve^ close ; 
\Qay.'\ And °Hope, oen°chanted, | (- -) "smiled, and waved 

her golden hair. 
And ^longer had °s^e sung, ( — ) but, with a frown, 

(\) °°Revenge impatient rose ; 
( — ) He threw his blood-stained sword | in °thunder ^down, 

And, I with a withering look, 

(- -) The war-denouncing trumpet took, 

(/) And blew a blast so | loud | and dread, 

( — ) o^^®^® ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe I 
/ c X I And, ever and anon, he beat 

\ The doubling drum, with furious heat, 
(p.) °And though sometimes, (/) each dreary pause be- 
tween, 

(/) Dejected Pity, (- -) at his side, 

°Her ( / ) soul-subduing voice applied, 

(- -) Yet still he kept his wild, °un°altered °mien, 
(Stac.) While each strained ball of sight seemed (') ^bursting 

II from his head. 
[Slow,] oThy numbers. Jealousy, to ( \) °naught were fixed — 

( * ) Run (loAvn five or more notes on " despair," half aspirate. 
( « ) Bring out tlie accented syllables in rhythmical beats, as in drumming 
( 1 )IJring out cacli acceuted syllable with explosive rorcc, especially on 
"bursting." 



n{\)i 



IMPERSONATIONS. 205 

(- -) ^Sad proof of thy distressful state ; 
Of °dififering themes | the veering so*iig | was mixed ; 

(p.) oAnd °iiow I it courted °Love, (/.) now, °raving, | 
called on Hate. 
[/S'/ot/?.] ( — ) With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 
Pale Melancholy | sat retired ; | 
And, I from her wild, sequestered seat. 
In notes by distance made °mo"re sweet, 
Poured through the mellow horn | her pensive soul ; 
{Stac. q p.) °And, dashing soft from rocks around, 
Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; 

( ) ['Slow.] °Through glades and glooms the mingled 

measure stole ; 

Or o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 
Round a holy calm diffusing, 
Love of Peace, and lonely musing. 
In hollow murmurs died away. 
(') ^But °oh ! ^how °altered was its °sprightlier °tone | 
When (\) °Cheerfulness, a nymph of ('") °healthi'est hue, 

( — ) Her bow across her shoulder flung, 

( — ) Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, 
Blew an ^inspiring ai^ | that dale and thicket riing — 

( — ) The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known ! 
(--) °The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed Queen, 

Satyrs | and sylvan (") °boys, ^were °seeii 

Peeping from forth | their alleys green ; 

^Brown °Exerci^ | rejoiced to hear ; 

And Sport leaped tip | and seized | his beechen spear. 
[Soberly.] Last came °Joy's ^ecstatic trial : 
He, I with viny (/) ^crown advancing. 

First to the lively °pipe ^his hand addressed ; 

( 8 ) In monotone, every line lower and softer to the end. 

(» ) Run five to eight notes down on " oh," •' altered," " sprightller," and up 
as much on " tone." 

( 10 ) «i Healthiest hue," three notes down and three up. 

( " ) " Boys were seen," run down on " boys," use " were " as a pivot, and 
swing upward on " seen," making a cradle ( ~- ) of the three words. 



206 HELEN POTTER'S 

°Biit soon he saw | the brisk | awakening viol, 

Whose sweet entrancing voice | he loved the best ; 
(/) They would have thought, who heard the strain, 

( — ) They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, 

( — ) Amidst the festal-sounding shades, 
To some unwearied | minstrel | dancing, | 
(■8tac.) While | his flying fingers | (•^) °kissed the strings, | 
Love framed with Mirth | a gay fantastic round : 
('^)°Loose I were her tresses seen, | her zone (^ °un°bound; 

(/) o^nd °he | (/) ^ amidst his frolic play, | 

As if he would the charming (^) °air ^repay, 
Shook (\) "thousand | odors | ( — ) from his dewy wings. 

(\) °0 Music ! sphere-descending maid, 

"Friend of "Pleasure, | "Wisdom's aid ! 

(\) °Why, goddess! | why, to "us ^denied, 

(\) "Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre | aside ? 

( / ) As, in that loved Athenian bower. 

You learned an all-commanding power, 

Thy mimic soul, | nymph endeared. 

Can well re°call | what then it heard ; ( " ) 

"Where is thy native simple heart, 

Devote to Virtue, | "Fancy, | Art ? 

(\) Arise | as in that (\) "elder time, 

(/) Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime. 

Thy wonders, | in that godlike age, 

(\) Fill I thy recording ( '') sister's | page: 

(/) „'Tis "said, ^and I believe the "tale— 

(\) Thy "humblest ^reed \ could "more "prevail, 

Had more of strength, | diviner rage, | 

Than all | which charms this | laggard age. 

E'en all at once "together ^found | 

( — ) Cecilia's mingled world of sound. 

( " ) Tlic same as above on " unbound." 
( '3 ) " Heard " to rhyme with " endeared." 
( >M Sister, i. e., history. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 207 

(\) °0h, bid our vain endeavors cease, 
^Re°vive | the just designs of Greece ; 
Return | in all | thy °simple state — 
^Con°firra | the tales | her sons relate. 

The student who can properly read this "Ode to the 
Passions," can read anything well, since all varieties of 
voice, inflection, rates of speed, etc., are required to render 
it effectively. It is well worth careful study and continued 
practice. It can be made for readers and speakers almost 
as useful as is the scale to musicians. 

A SERIES OF TABLEAUX. 

To accompany a Reading" of *' Ode to the Passions.'* 



ARRANGED BY HELEN POTTER. 



A series of strong tableaux can be made to accompany 
the reading of this poem. The stage should be arranged 
so that the changes can be made quickly and without dis- 
turbing the reader. A couple of squares of plank on rollers 
would, perhaps, be useful, as one figure could be posed 
while the other is on exhibition ; else, side by side, two sets 
of screens or curtains, to be used alternately. A maroon or 
very dark crimson throws out a picture better than any 
other color; hence a background of maroon cloth and 
screens or curtains of the same color, are an absolute neces- 
sity. Arrange them so that they can be quickly and easily 
closed or opened, by means of strings worked at the side. 

Having selected the persons to pose in the tableaux, re- 
hearse and time them, to ascertain hov; many seconds each 
one can remain motionless, just as they are posed for 
exhibition. 

The reader advances to a position where he or she will 
not intercept the views, and begins to read. When he 
arrives at " Fear," in the second stanza, the curtain should 
open noiselessly, and reveal the posed figure of "Fear." 
At the word of the text, gauging his seconds of posing, 
close the curtain. The subject should still remain in posi- 
tion, but may relax the will, and take a moment of rest. 



208 HELEN POTTER'S 

If recalled, he again assumes the intent posture and is 
again exhibited ; if not, he steps down and out, and the 
scene is over. 

The reader, in the meantime, follows the pulse of the 
audience and waits or continues, as he perceives a need. 
"When the third stanza brings out the word " Despair," the 
tableau of "Despair" should be shown. In this manner 
continue, until the entire poem has been produced. Ap- 
propriate music, serving as a background for the reader's 
voice, adds greatly to the effect of this most artistic per- 
formance. Any good local musician can arrange music to 
correspond with each of the Passions ; and, of course, the 
better the music and stage-settings, the better the result. 



TABLEAUX. 

1. Fear. — A young man; pale; large, open eyes, with a 
general look of surprise and uncertainty. Dress. — 
Shapes* and tunic of pale gray, and sandals. Pose.— 
Side view, sitting before a harp, and shrinking back 
from the harp, with hands repellent. 

2. Anger. — A man ; pale ; dark eyes and hair ; heavy 
eyebrows ; frowning and fierce, with set teeth. Dress. — 
Shapes and tunic (or doublet and hose) of cardinal and 
black, and a dagger or sword, and sandals. Pose. — Side 
view, standing before a harp, and leaning forward, in the 
position one would naturally take who had given the 
strings a tremendous crash, and was about to repeat the 
act. 

8. Despair. — A man ; tall, slender ; dark hair and eyes ; 
dark skin ; stooping shoulders, and a general look of 
misery and hopelessness. Dress. — Shapes, doublet and 
hose all black. Pose. — Three-quarter view, sitting or 
standing ; disheveled hair, one hand on the harp, and 
the other to the drooping head ; or, wdth fingers through 
the hair, and eyes rolled upward. 

4. Hope. — A young lady ; long, flowing, yellow hair ; 
slight figure ; a bright and sunny face. Dress. — Long, 
loose robe of pale blue (uplifted thought) in Greek 
drapery, with bracelets, armlets, and anklets ; or, if pre- 

* Sliapea, close flttiiig silk or wool knit garmcuts revealing the bhape of tho 
limbs. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 209 

f erred, a long, straight skirt, with a very short waist, 
and only a puff or cap for sleeves. Po^e — Standing; 
head thrown back, gazing upward, with a smile over the 
whole face, as well as upon the lips, and a lyre hung 
from the shoulders. For " Echo," a miniature duplicate 
of " Hope " (dress, style and all), placed within the pic- 
ture-space or area. 

Revenge and Pity. — A man ; a decided brunette, ugly 
and cruel to look upon. Paint shadows in reds and 
browns about the eyes, in the hollows of the temples, 
back of the cheek-bones, and down the cords of the neck ; 
also make three dark lines down the forehead between 
the eyes ; and mark the cords of the hands, and a spot 
below the "Adam's apple," shading it out and down- 
ward. Dress. — Shapes, tunic and cap, all red (cruelty) ; 
or a red doublet and hose, a red cloak and skull-cap, 
with a sword or poniard hanging from a belt. Pose. — 
Standing ; trumpet to the mouth, wdth an attitude and 
expression of blowing very hard. (Fill the cheeks wdth 
cotton.) " Pity " is a young girl ; slight figure ; light 
hair, and an angelic expression. Dress. — A robe of 
apple-green (intellect and love). Pose. — One hand ex- 
tended to heaven, and the other appealingly to "Re- 
venge," w^ith a look of love and tenderness. Here is an 
opportunity for a most exquisite and graceful pose, and 
a fine dramatic ensemble. 

Jealousy. — A man ; sandy hair, pale face, of a greenish- 
yellow (sickly hue); corners of the mouth drawn down; the 
whole expression sullen and frowning. Dress. — Shapes, 
doublet, hose and mantle in harmonious shades of green. 
Pose.— Standing or sitting ; shoulders up ; head bowed; 
brows down, and eyes looking up through shaggy brows ; 
holding a violin (or, if sitting, a bass-viol), with the bow- 
arm hanging limp and impotent. Near by, on the right 
hand and the left, stand "Love" and "Hate," wdth 
uplifted hands, and their eyes fixed upon "Jealousy." 
These are represented by two children, in guise of Cupid 
and Mephistopheles. The former a blonde, in a pink 
slip, with bare arms, legs and feet, a full quiver upon his 
back, and a bow and arrow in his hands. Paint the 
toes, fingers and chin red ; add dimples by putting a 
small white spot in each cheek and in the chin. "Hate " 
or Mephistopheles is a brunette, in red and black ; a 



210. HELEN POTTER'S 

black skiill-cap, with a long red quill stuck upon one side, 
long-pointed sock-sboes, a belt and breech-cloth. Suit 
may be all of Jersey cloth. 

7. Melancholy. — A young lady; pale, tall, slender and 
willowy, sloping shoulders and drooping. Bre^$. — A 
flowing Greek robe, i. e., a sleeveless, loose dress and 
peplum ; or, if preferred, an Empire robe of lavender 
color, sandals, bracelets, armlets and anklets. Pose. — 
Side view, classical ; sitting, one knee over the other, and 
hands clasped over the knee, with interlacing fingers 
(the outline showing a curved back and one sandaled 
foot, elevated) ; the hair carelessly caught up, and the 
face upturned, as expressed by the poet : "With eyes up- 
raised as one inspired." 

8. Cheerfulness. — A young girl; happy and contented, 
with a bright, cheerful, smiling face. Dress. — Greek 
robe, or Empire gown, of violet or combined shades of 
heliotrope (physical and mental vigor), and a quiver full 
of arrows at her back. Pose. — Side view, standing on 
tiptoe ; "a bow across her shoulders flung," and two 
fine young athletes posing near her, " Exercise " and 
" Sport." They are two handsome young men of excel- 
lent model, supple and strong, and dressed in sporting 
costumes. 1st Athlete, " Exercise," is brown and vigor- 
ous. Dress. — Red and yellow, or red and some other 
color. Pose. — A graceful gymnastic position, e. g., spring- 
ing to catch a ball over head, or leaping. 2d Athlete, 
" Sport," is a blonde of vivacious temperament. Dress. — 
Crimson and gray, or orange, i. e., a costume in which 
red (physical force) figures conspicuously.^ 

9. Joy. — A boy; jovial, rosy and vivacious; a brunette. 
Dress. — Yellow, bordering on orange ; shapes, trunks, 
jaxket and sandals; upon the head a crown of vine leaves. 
Expression, gay and laughing. Pose. — Standing ; play- 
ing the violin, while "Love" and " Mirth " pose as danc- 
ing to the music. " Love " is represented by a beautiful 
young girl in yellow ; " Mirth " by a boy full of frolic 
and fun, dressed fantastically in gay colors. For an 
encore, " Joy " drops the violin and, bow in hand, joins 
in dancing. Dancing-positions are endless in variety, 

* The colors herein set forth to typify the jjassious accord with the author's 
understanding of their signilicance ; oUieis muy have a dillerent interpreta- 
tion, and arc at liberty to use their own correspondences. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 211 

and can be rendered exceedingly graceful, e. <;., in a 
circle, hands up, and one toe just touching the floor, etc. 

THE POEM IN ACTION. 
In case a full orchestra and full stage arrangements are 
available, with colored lights, storm-boxes, etc., this poem 
could be enacted, stanza by stanza, in magnificent style. 
The primitive, wild forest scene, with an arbor wherein 
Music dwells, her ''instruments of sound " hanging from 
the branches of the trees, her light or golden harp well 
defined against a dark background, etc. Also, a distinct 
sense of the power of color could be produced by means of 
colored lights, typical of each successive passion : Fear, 
gray ; Anger, red ; Despair, black ; Hope, light blue ; Re- 
venge, crimson ; Pity, apple-green ; Jealousy, green, with 
flashes of pink in the darkness for Love and Hate, which 
alternate in the moods of Jealousy; Melancholy, lavender; 
Cheerfulness, violet or heliotrope, with flashes of red, orange 
and purple for Exercise and Sport. Then the storm effects 
could be applied, lightning to accompany Fear ; thunder 
with Anger and Revenge; whistling wind with Despair, 
sighing wind with Melancholy, etc. 

THE POEM IN MARBLE. 
All good, single figures, or groups not too large, could be 
put into marble, if desired, and a grand gallery of statuary 
form the chief feature of the recital. 

Dress and Maks-up for Statuary. — Apply a liquid preparation 
called " Clown's White " to the face, neck, arms and hands. Smooth 
it evenly over the surface, with the palms and finger-tij^s, and add a 
wig- made of white cotton, or cotton-wool. The drapery must corres- 
pond with the copy. It may be a robe, tog-a, or cloak, of white, or 
cream-white cashmere. For temporary service, soft cheese-cloth will 
answer very well. Remember, however, that the color must be the 
same throughout, to represent marble ; the face, wig, drapery, all 
alike in color. Stand upon a low pedestal, and let the drapery con- 
ceal the feet and fall to the floor or near it. 



212 HELEN POTTER'S 



SILEliT LETTERS 



A Study op Visible Expression. 

Appealing to the Eye alone. 

Students well trained in physical expression can make a most in- 
teresting display by means of prepared, sealed letters, conveying- 
various kinds of news. These letters are to be opened and silently 
read in presence of the spectators, the contents to be made apparent 
by attitude and action only ; i. e., by physical expression. 

EXAMPLES, DISPLAYING VARIOUS EMOTIONS. 

1. A dunning- letter — Annoyance, contempt, etc. 

2. A sad-news letter — Surprise, grief, etc. 

3. An insulting letter — Anger, rage, disgust, etc. 

4. A funny letter — Mirth, laughter, etc. 

5. Of losses, disaster, ruin — Surprise, remoi'se, despair, etc. 

6. A love letter — The gamut of the sentimental. 

Suggestions how to read these letters may be of great service to 
students who have little or no opportunity for proper physical train- 
ing, and, at the same time, serve as a basis for elaboration by others. 
Effective action must necessarily partake of the nature of the actoi-, 
since the same emotions are expressed in divers mannei'S by divei-s 
people. One is explosive, another suppressed, another paralyzed un- 
der the same sentiment or feeling, and your action should bear some- 
what of your personality. Remember that posture and gesture can 
be seen much farther than facial expression, the latter, in a large au- 
ditorium, being often lost to spectators beyond the first rows ; yet 
avoid exaggeration, otherwise you may appear more the contortionist 
or clown than the artist. 

A Dunning Letter— Annoyance, Etc. 
Look at the envelope, turn it over, look again. Examine 
the post-mark ; raise the eyebrows, and open it with a show 
of indifference. Read it, contract the brows, feel of the 
pocket, and toss the head with eyebrows up and eyes half 
closed. Throw the letter over the shoulder upon the floor; 
tap the foot, and w^histle or hum a tune very carelessly. 

A Sad-news Letter — Surprise, Grief, Etc. 
8it at the table upon which the letters lie unopened 
[normo-mental] ; open the letter and read. [Surprise.] 



IMPERSONATIONS, 213 

tSqaint ; \a^loni?i'hraent\ rise to your feet ; \^tii'por\ stare with 
wide open eyes, brows down, etc. ; recover yourself, sigh, 
awake, and return to the letter ; read, winking fast, and 
turn the head from side to side, as you follow the lines back 
and forth. [Convidio7i.] Give up and sink down, crushing 
the letter in the left hand, and swaying the body to and 
fro. [Agoni/ and rebellion.] Writhe, rise, groan, etc. [Sub- 
mission.] Weep, relax all the muscles, and, with face heav- 
enward and right hand uplifted, melt into prayer, and 
show submission to the Divine will ; or, if preferred, kneel, 
drooping the head and hands, and bend over toward the 
floor in a state of total abandonment to grief. 

An Insulting Letter — Anger, Rage, Etc. 

[Indifference.] Look the letter over, open it, turn to the 
inside signature, leaning back in the chair, the head turned 
aside. [Interest.] Read the letter, increasing in action ; sit 
up and bring the letter nearer the eyes. [Surprise.] Bring 
down the eyebrows, open wide the eyes and mouth; turn 
the eyes rapidly from one side of the letter to the other ; 
again look at the signature, date and envelope. [Anger.] 
Read again, frown, set the teeth, bend forward, clench the 
fist, and tap the foot impatiently. [Rage.] Crush the letter, 
rise, pace the floor to and fro, shake your fists, halt, make 
a sound of disgust, " ugh," and throwing it violently upon 
the floor, stamp upon it. 

Note. — Two or three vocal sounds, during the action of 
this letter, may add to the efi'ect; an "ugh! ""ha!" 
" m ! " or something of this sort ; but repeated too often 
would seriously mar the performance. 

A Funny Letter — Smiles, Laughter, Etc. 

This letter can best be read in the performer's o^vn style 
of mirthfulness ; therefore, no full directions will be given. 
To smile, to press your lips together and explode in laugh- 
ter, to hold your sides and " ha, ha, ha ! " or to titter and 
giggle and laugh suppressedly, must be a matter of choice 
and of nature combined. No directions could be given to 
suit all. 

A Bad-news Letter — Ruin, Disgrace, Etc, 

This varies from the sad-news letter in that remorse, 
despair, and even insanity may be touched upon in expres- 



214 HELEN POTTERS 

sion. Imagine loss of reputation ; disgrace by some care- 
less act of your own ; . the loss of a dear triend by neglect 
or abuse ; loss by flood or fire, by sea or calamity of other 
sort ; the loss of a loved one or the loss of property which 
causes sorrow and suffering to family and dependents, etc. 

A Love Letter — Sentimental. 
Look at the envelope on all sides, and with trembling 
hands open the letter. Sigh and look to the signature at 
the end of it. Smile, read, and sigh ; turn about, holding 
it close to your heart. Rise, fold it up hastily, look about 
you as if fearful of discovery, hide it behind you, then open 
it again and look at the signature ; kiss it, fold it, and put 
it in your bosom. 

A Study op Audible Expression. 
Appealing to the Ear only. 

How much you can express by the voice alone can be 
tested by reciting a brief selection, poem or speech, while 
standing behind a screen. Stripped of all the assistance 
which comes of youth, beauty, grace, artistic attire, or the 
charm of an agreeable and magnetic presence, your vocal 
work will undergo a severe test. 

The writer experienced a test of this kind when called to 
entertain an audience of blind people. The impersonations 
were useless in such a case, for the make-up, dress, wigs, 
walk, etc., would go for nothing, and plain readings and 
recitations were substituted in their place. Dressed with 
due care and something of elaboration, as usual for enter- 
tainments elsewhere, the reader was escorted to the hall, 
w^here the audience were assembled and awaiting the per- 
formance. The usual effect of an entrance was lost, of 
course ; also the opening salutation, the deferential bow, 
which ordinarily puts the audience en rapport with the 
artist. 

As the reader looked upon the expectant, sightless faces 
around her, and felt the trustful repose of all those intelli- 
gent hands which lay so peacefully upon their laps, as if 
listening and expectant too, the question came to her: 
" How can I satisfy these waiting souls ? Here soul unto 
soul speaketh ; all else is vanity, indeed ! Whether I be 
old or young, awkward or graceful, homely or beautiful, in 
calico and bare arms, or satin and Paris gloves, is of no 



IMPERSONATIONS. 215 

moment to them. The uplifted eyes, the pleading hands, 
smiles, frowns, hopes, fears, each and every emotion and 
sentiment must be heard, for none can see ! The tears 
must be in the voice, all, all in the voice ! May the Great Spirit 
abide with me, and dwell in every tone, every word, every 
sentence I utter this night ! " 

Indeed, no better test of your voice-work can be made 
than to read or recite to an intelligent blind person. If he 
is satisfied, you have succeeded well. In reading dialogues, 
see that the characters are kept distinct, each from the 
other, in quality and movement of voice. Emulate Mrs. 
Fanny Kemble Butler, who could keep six or eight charac- 
ters individual and distinct, so that any one could tell at 
any time which is speaking. If you can do this, then you 
can read well. 

Tripartite Expression. 
Appealing to the Eai\ Eye and Feeling. 

Three renderings of the sa.me story, if w^ell done, is a 
most curious and interesting performance. Select a short 
story or poem, one that can be clearly told hj gesture or 
pantomime, and commit it thoroughly. 

(1)^ Tell the story without gesture, or emotion, or any 
physical action not strictly necessary ; behind a screen if 
preferred. 

(2) Tell the same story in pantomime, without \vords. 

(3) Recite the poem with all the embellishments and ora- 
torical effects, voice, action, feeling, etc., and with a musi- 
cal accompaniment or background. 

A comical effect can be produced by two persons, one to 
recite, the other to pantomime at the same time, the recita- 
tionist apparently unconscious of the pantomimic display. 
If available, a party of pantomimists can perform in unison, 
and keep time by silent dancing or occasional light gym- 
nastics, in the rear of the speaker. 



216 HELEN POTTERS 



OTHELLO. 



A STUDY OP TOMMASO SALVINI. 



[Text from his acting- copy of Shakespeare's Othello.) 

Arqument.— Othello, the Moor, was commander of the Venetian army, 
lago was his ensign or ancient. Desdemona, the daughter of Bra- 
ban tio, the senator, fell in love with the Moor, and he married her ; 
but lago, by insinuation, falsehood, and villainy, wi-oug-ht a thread 
of circumstantial evidence ag-ainst the innocent wife, so that Othello, 
aroused to jealousy, smothered her with a pillow, and then killed 
himself. 

Act I., Scene I.— A dark street. Scene II.— Council Chamber. 

When in Act I. Othello is set upon by the venerable Brabantio and 
his party, for stealing his daughter, he coolly advises them to put 
up, or rather 

Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them. 

Good signior, you shall more 

Command with years^ than with your weapons. 

They call him names, taunt and abuse him, saying he must be 
subdued ; conscious of his superior strength, he replies : 

Were it my cue to fight, I should have known it without a 

prompter. 

And adds in a most conciliatory tone and manner : 
Where will you that I go, | to answer this charge ? 

They answer rudely : 
To prison, till fit time of law call thee to answ^er. 

Then, in his answering question, the officer and diplomat appear : 

What if I do ^o°bey ? 

How may the °Ditke \ be therewith satisfied, 

Whose messengers | are here about my side. 

Upon some present business of the °state, 

To bring me to °him f 

The court is convened, and awaits the coming of the Moor. The 
Duke and the senators are stationed on the right ; the guard, in 
armor, at the rear j while Prs.bftntip, Cassio, lago, and othei's enter 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 217 

from the left, and await the issue. Brabantio makes the charge, and 
Othello is called upon to answer. Then comes the Moor's famous 
plea, beg-inning- with : ** Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors." 
Othello stei">s forward, and with dignity addresses the court. He 
makes few gestures, and no display of oratory ; but proceeds to nar- 
rate the circumstances of his acquaintance with Desdemona, and of 
their mutual attachment. The mighty warrior is cool and pacific, 
both in speech and manner : 

Othello. Her father loved me, oft invited me, 
Still questioned me the story of my life. 
From year | to year, — the battles, | sieges, | "fortunes. 
That I had passed. 

I ran it through, | even from my °boyish days, j 
To the very moment | he bade me tell it ; 
Wherein I spake | of most disastrous chances, 
Oi moving accidents | by flood and field, | 
01 hair-breadth 'scapes | i' the imminent deadly breach, | 
Of being taken by the insolent foe 
And sold to slavery ; of my Qre°demption | thence. 

My story being do'ne | 
She gave me for my pains a (\) °world of sighs. 
°She swore, ^in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas "passing 

^strange ; 
'Twas ( \) "pitiful, 'twas (\) "wondrous pitiful. 
She wished she had not heard it ; yet she wished 
That heaven had made her such a man ; she thanked me ; 
And bade me, ^if I had a friend (/) that loved her, 
I should but teach him how to tell "my oStdry, 
(/) And that | would "woo her. Upon "this ^hint | 

I spake. 
She (\) "loved me | for the "dang'ers | I had passed, | 
(/) And I loved "her | ^that she did "pity ^them; 
(\) This only | is the (\) "witchcraft | I have used. 

Othello steps back and puts out his hand. 

(/) Here comes the "lady ; (\) "let her witness it. 

All turn to look at Desdemona, as she enters. Her father, standing 
by the senators, and near to the front of the stage, addresses her : 



218 HELEN POTTER'S 

Brab. (\) °Come hither, ^gentle mistress ; 
( — ) Do you perceive | in all this noble company 
Where °most | (\) °you owe obedience ? 

Desdemona advances to the front near her father, and answers : 

Des. My noble fath'er, 
(/) I do perceive here | a "divided oduty. 
My life and education | °both (/) do learn me 
(\) °How to respect you ; you are the lord of duty. 

Othello advances and listens eagei-ly. 

(/) I am hitherto | °your daughter; 

She pauses, looks back, and pointing* to Othello, adds : 

but here's || ^my °husband. 

Othello turns and, pressing his clasped hands to his breast, nods to 
lago, as to say : "See, she is mine, of her own free choice, and you 
see she loves me ! ah, how sweet, how beautiful she is ! " As she 
continues her speech, he turns his head from side to side, smiling 
and admiring her, looking excessively proud and happy, and so sure 
of her that every one unconsciously smiles too, in an outburst of 
human sympathy. Brabantio speaks in a kindly tone, which Othello 
welcomes as a harbinger of peace and good-will. 

Brdb, ( \ ) °God be with you ! ^I have done. 

(\) °Come hither, Moor. [Othello advances.] 

I here do give thee th'at | with all my heart, 

Othello throws up his hands in gratitude, and impulsively holds 
them out toward Brabantio. 

°Which, ^but that thou hast already, °with all my heart, || 

(/. g.) ''°I would keep from thee ! 

At this sudden and violent turn of manner, Othello starts back, over- 
whelmed with surprise and disappointment ; but he soon becomes 
severe and reserved. Then follows the Duke's order. A military 
expedition must be undertaken at once, and Othello must go and 
leave Desdemona behind. Now comes struggle, keen and swift, 
between his duty as commander of an army, and his duty to this 
beautiful, new-found treasure, who needs his protection and tender 
care. Her father is angry and cruel ; she must not go to him. To 
entrust her to strangers, alas ! that would never do. So he begs the 
court to provide for her as becomes her station. Desdemona^ upon 
her knees, now implores permission to go with him to the wars. 
Othello tenderly raises her and, with his arm about her, assures the 
court that he will not pi'ove remiss in his duty to the state if Desde- 
mona be permitted to have her way. The request being granted, he 



IMPERSONATIONS. 219 

consigns his beloved wife to the care of his friend, "honest lag-o," to 
escort her to camp, while he attends to important matters necessary 
to the expedition. The court adjourns, and as they pass out (centre) 
all bow to Othello and Desdemona. When, last of all, Brabantio 
passes them, Desdemona rushes toward him with extended hands, 
mutely imploring- forg-iveness. Brabantio pauses and, without 
noticing- her, addresses Othello in words that sting-, like a poisoned 
arrow, projecting- the last one with unutterable cruelty, accompanied 
by a grand flourish of the hand : 

(\) °Look to her, Moor, | if thou hast eyes to see ; 

(/) She has deceived her ""fath&i^, \ and inay || °°THEE ! 

Then with long- strides he makes his exit, pursued by the infuri- 
ated Moor. Suddenly Othello pauses ; the thought seems to come to 
him : "If I smite her father, I smite her." He reels with emotion, 
hurries to her side, wraps his cloak about her trembling- form, and 
moves swiftly away with her (Jeft). 



Act II., Scene I.— A fortified town on the Island of Cyprus. 

In front of the castle, Montano and several officers are discovered. 
Enter Desdemona, with Emilia, lag-o, and others. Being- assured 
that this beautiful lady is the wife of the General, they kneel to do 
her honor. She inquires after her lord, and some light conversation 
follows ; during- this time Cassio takes her hand and speaks to her in 
a low voice. lago notes this for after use, to excite the Moor to jeal- 
ousy. At this i^oint Othello is announced. He comes upon the scene 
with impetuous speed, seeking his bride. Radiant with delight, she 
runs joyfully forward and meets him half way. At sight of her he 
pauses, throws up his hands and, with a quick glance to heaven, ex- 
claims, in tones of deep gratitude : 

( \ ) °0h, my fair warrior ! 

They embrace and, slowly moving forward to the centre of the 
scene, his eyes still fixed upon her face, he continues his rhapsody : 

0th, (\) °0h, my soul's joy ! 
If after every tempest | come °such ^calms, 
May the winds blow | till they have °wakened ^death ! 
(/) And let the laboring barque | climb hills of seas 
(/) Olympus-high, | and duck again | as low 
As °heirsfrom ^heaven ! If it were now | to die, | 
'Twere now | to be most happy ; for, I fear. 
My soul hath her content °so (/) ^absolute, 
( — ) That not another comfort | like to this, | 
oSuc°ceeds | in ( \ ) °unkno^vn fate. 



220 HELEN POTTER'S 

Des. The heavens forbid, 
But that our loves and comforts | should Qin°crease 
(\)Even as our days do grow ! 

Olh. °Amen ^to °that, °sweet ^powers I 

(\) I cannot speak | Qe°nough | of this content ; 

It stops me here ; it is too much of joy. 

He strokes her hair and holds her close, with his hand on her head ; 
turns her face up toward his, and moves his head rig-ht and left, as if 
drinking from her soul's beauty ; then kisses her tenderly, and moves 
forward with her. 

O^h. Come, let us to the castle. 

News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are drowned. 

How does my old acquaintance of this isle ? 

[To Des.] ^Honey, you shall be well desired | in Cyprus; 

I have found great love amongst th'em. 

(\) °0 my sweet, 

I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 

In mine (\) own comforts. I pr'ythee, good lago, 

Go to the bay, and disembark my cotfers. 

^Come, Desdemona. 

Exeunt all but lag-o and Roderigo, and the scene darkens ; it is 
night. lago now contrives to get up a drunken brawl in the street., 
which ends in a fight. Othello, disturbed in his slumbers, rushes ex- 
citedly forth in his dressing-gown, with a red cloak over his shoulders. 

0th. °What is the matter here ? °°Hold | for your lives ! 

°For Christian shame, put by this barbarous brawl ; 

He that stirs next to carve for his own rage, 

Holds his soul light ; he dies | upon his motion. 

^Honest lago, | that lookst dead Avith grieving. 

Speak, I (\) ^who began this ? 

Othello stands haughtily, and glares from one to the other of the 
rioters. lago's ansv/er exonerates himself, and injures those he de- 
sires to ruin. 

0th. °Wirat ! and in a town of war, 
The people's hearts | °brimful ^of fear, 
To manage private and doinestic quarrels ! 
(gut.) o'Tis "monstrous I 



UdPERSONAriONS, 221 

Desdemona, hearing- the uproar, and fearful lest something" serious 
has happened to her lord, rushes upon the scene in dishabille. At 
sight of his frightened wife, Othello again becomes incensed at the 
affair, and, in angry tones, orders them away. Tiien taking off his 
cloak he wraps it about her, and hurries her away (Hght). 



Act III., ScENB III. — Cyprus. A room in the castle. 

This scene opens with an interview between Cassio, who has been 
deposed on account of the street-brawl, and Desdemona. Emilia, her 
attendant, is also present. Cassio implores her on his knees to inter- 
cede with the Moor, in his behalf ; and, pitying him, she promises 
to do everything in her power to restoi-e him to position and favor 
with her lord. Othello and lago enter in time to see Cassio depart. 

lago. °Ha ! (\) °I like not th'at. 

Olh, What dost thou say ? 

logo. Nothing, my lord ; I know not what. 

lago says this as if he had thought aloud and would conceal it. 

0th. ^Was not that Cassio | parted from my wife ? 

lago. Cassio, my lor3.! No, | sure, | [halting] I cannot 
think it, 
That he would steal away so (\) °guilty-like, 
Seeing you coming. 

0th, I do believe 'twas he [with lowering broios], 

Des. [advancing]. ^How °now, | ^my °lord ! 
I have been talking with a °suitor ohere"; 
A man that languishes | in your displeasure. 

0th. „Who °is it | you mean ? 

Des. °Why, | your lieutenant, °Ca"ssio. (/) Good, my lord, 

[Othello bends an inquiring look upon he?-] 
If °I I have any grace or power to move you, 
His present reconciliation °take ; 
For if he be not one | ^that °truly gloves you, 
That errs in ignorance, | and not in cunning, 
I have °no ^judgment, | (\) in an honest face. 

Olh. Went he hence now ? 

Des. °Ay, ^sooth; ^so ^hum^bled [her hand on his arm] 
That he hath left °paft ,of his °gfief | (\) with me, 
qTo suffer with him. °Good ^love, | (\) °call him back. 



222 HELEN POTTER'S 

0th. °Not qHOw, ^sweet Desdemona; (\) °some otlier 
time. [He puts his arm about her affectionately. 1 

Des. °But shall 't be ^shortly ? 

0th. The °sooiier, ^sweet, | ^for °yoli. 

Des. {/) Shall 't be to-night, | ^at °supper ? 

0th. ^NoTonot ^to-°night. 

Des. To-morrow, °diniier, Qth"eii? 

0th. \restless\ (/) I shall not | ^dine at °home ; 
I meet the °captains, | at the °citadel. 

Moves away from her annoyed ; she follows. 

Des. oWhy, °then, | to-morrow night, | or Tuesday morn; 
Or "Tuesday Qnooii, or night; or (\) ° Wednesday morn. 
I pr'ythee °naine the ^tiine ; but let it not 
Exceed three days ; °in ^faith, | he's "penitent. 
(\) °When shall he come ? 
^Tell me, ^Othello. [He mows about uncomfortable^ but not 

angry.'] (\) °I wonder | in my s"oul. 
What °you ^could ask °me, || that I should deny. 
Or stand so (\) °mammering on. What! Michael Cassio, 
That came a "wooing ^with you; and so many a time. 
When I have spoke of you dispraisiiigly, 
Hath "ta'en ^your "part, to have so "much ^to "do 
To bring | him | in! (\ ) Trust me, (\) "I could do | °mu"ch— 

0th. [takes her to his side and speaks kindly']. Pr'ythee, no 
more ; ^let him (\) "come when he will ; 
(/) I will deny thee | "nothing. 

Des. [surprised]. "Why, (\) this is not a boon ; 
'Tis as I should entreat you | wear your gloves. 
Or I feed on nourishing dishes, | or | keep you warm, 
Or sue you | to do a peculiar profit 
To your own person. oNay, when "I ^have a "suit, 
Wherein I mean to touch your love, | ^indeed 
It shall be full of "poise | and "difficult weight, 
jjAud fearful | to be granted. 

0th. I will deny thee | nothing. 



IMPERSONATIONS. 223 

He takes her white face between his brown hands and gazes search- 
ingly into her eyes ; then, melting- into tenderness, he kisses her 
twice upon the forehead. 

Whereon I do beseech ^thee, (\) °grant me this. 

(- -) To leave ine | but. a little | to myself. 

Be?,, Shall 1 deny you? ^No. (\) °Farewell, my lord. 

\He accompanies her to the dooo'.] 

0th. ^Fare^well, my ^Desdemolia ; I'll come to thee 

straight. 

Des. Emilia, come. [To Othello.] Be | as your fancies 

teach you. 

What(\)°e'er you be, | °I am o°bedient. 

[Exeunt Desdemona and Emilia.'] 

0th. {gut.) ^Per^dition ^'catch ^my soul, 

(- -) But I do I love I thee ! | and when 1 '^love ^thee °not, 

(\) °Chaos I qIs °come | ^again. 

lago. My noble loFd — 

0th. [starting, and angry at being overheard']. What dost 

say, lago ? 

lago [insinuating']. Did | Michael Cassio, | when you 

wooed my lady, 

Know of your love ? 

0th. ^He °did,from °fifst °to Jast. Why dost thou °ask? 

lago. (\) °But for a satisfaction of my thought, 

No further harm. 

0th. (\) °Why of thy thought, Jag5 ? 

lago. I did not | tHmk | he had been | ^acquainted with 

her. 

0th, Oh, yes ; and went between us very oft. 

lago. Indeed ! 

0th. Indeed ! ay, oin°deed ; discernst thou aught in that ? 

Is he not honest ? 

lago. °Honest, ^my lord ! 

0th. °Hon"est, ay, °honest. 

lago. My l5fd. | for aught I know. 

0th. {/) ^What dost thou "thmk ? 



224 HELEN POTTERS 

lago. Think, my lord ! 

0th. [impatient]. Think, my lord ! 
^By heaven, he °echoes me. 

As if I there were some °monster | in his thought, 
Too hideous | to be shown. [To lago.] Thou dost °mean 

^something. 
I heard thee say but now, thou lik'dst not that, 
(- -) „When Cassio left my wife. ( \) °What didst not like ? 
And when I told thee he was of my counsel. 
In my whole course of wooing, | thou criedst " indeed! " 
And didst contract and purse thy brow togeth"er. 
As if thou then hadst shut up in thy brain 
Some horrible conceit. (\) If thou dost love me, 
(\) °Show me [ ^thy ^thought. [Rises.] 

lago. My lord, | you know | I love you. 

Both move to the centre of the scene, and Othello takes Lino's hand. 

0th. (/) I think thou °dost ; 

And — for I know thou'rt full of love and honesty. 

And weighst thy words before thou giv'st them breath — 

^jThere"f6re, these ^stops of thine | fright me the °niore. 

For such things in a false, disloyal ^knave. 

Are tricks of ^cus^tom ; but in a man that's Just, 

They're closed re°latioiis, working from the heart, 

That "pas^sion | cannot °rule. 

Iag"0 continues to mystify and excite mistrust, and makes the 
famous speech : 

Who steals my purse | steals trash ; || 'tis 

Somethiiig, | nothing. (/) 'Twas mine, (\) 'tis his, || 

And has been the slave to "thousands. 

But he that filches from me | my good name, | 

Robs me of that | which (\) °not enriches him, | 

(/) And makes *^me | opoor | indeed. 

Othello vibrates from love to jealousy ; from confidence to doubt, 
lag-o departs, and Desdemona enter:?. To account for his ag-itation, 
Othello claims to suffer much pain in his head. She endeavors to 
bind her handkerchief about his brow, but he flings it upon the floor, 



IMPERSONATIONS. 225 

and they pass out together. Emilia enters and picks up the hand- 
kerchief, delighted because her husband, lago, has often importuned 
her to steal it for him. He enters and takes it away from her. 

lago stands afar and unobserved. Othello enters {right) in great 
distress of mind, and talking to himself. lago speaks, and the M(ior 
is filled with disgust and rage at having been overheard ; with in- 
creasing vehemence he addresses lago. 

0th. (^M^.) If thoudost slander her, | and torture ine, | 
(- -) Never | pray | more ; abandon °°all remorse. 
On horror's head, | °°horror3 accumulate, 
Do deeds | to make °heaven oWeep, all °earth ^amazed ; 
For ^nothing | °canst ^thou | to ^dam^natiou'add 
(--) Greater than that ! 

During this speech he becomes furious. He pursues the cowering 
lago to the extreme (left) front of the stage ; seizes him by the collar 
and crushes him to the ground. Not satisfied with that, he takes him 
by the top of his head and flings him over, flat upon his back, and 
raises his foot, like an infuriated Samson, to stamp upon him. Sud- 
denly he pauses and staggers back, crying, in fearful tones: **No, 
no, no ! " Then he returns, reaches down and takes him by the hand, 
and pulls him upon his feet. No sooner is lago upon his feet, than 
Othello sends him spinning from him with the intensest loathing and 
disgust. After having exhausted his rage, he listens to lago, and 
once more trusts him. Then, in confidence, lago tells how Cassio has 
Desdemona's handkerchief ; how he talks of her in his sleep, and of 
love, until Othello is convinced of her guilt, and, upon bended knee, 
swears vengeance upon them both. lago is now happy ; he will suc- 
ceed in his villainy. 



Act III.— Scene, a room in the castle at Cyprus. 
This act opens with a scene between Desdemona and Emilia, con- 
cei-ning a lost handkerchief. 

Bes. Where should I lose that handkerchief, Emilia ? 

'Emil. I know not, madam. 

i)e.9. Believe me, I had rather have lost my purse, 
Full of cruzadoes ; and but my noble Moor 
Is true of mind, and made of no such baseness 
As jealous creatures are, it were enough 
To put him to ill thinking. 

Emil. Is he °not JealoTis ? 

Des. Who, he ? I think the sun where he was born 
Drew all such humors from him. 

Ennil. Look, where he comes. 



226 ■ HELEN POTTER'S 

Des. I will not leave him now till Cassio 
Be called to him. [Enter Othello.] 
How is 't with you, my lord ? 

Oth.WeW, my good lady. [Aside.] Oh, hardness to dissemble ! 
Give me your hand. 

He takes her hand and looks at the palm, places his other hand 
over it, and discourses upon its qualities and their significance, and 
finally asks her to lend him her handkerchief. 

0th. ^Lend me thy handkerchief. 

Des. Here, ^my °lord. [He returns it.] 

0th. (\) That which I gave you. [She hesitates.] 

Des. ( \ ) I have it not | ^a^bout ^roe. 

0th. "^0? 

Des. No^ (\) indeed, my lord. 

0th. That is a °fault. That handkerchief 
Did an Egyptian | to my mother give. 
She was a charmer, | and could almost read 
The thoughts of people. She told her, | while she kept it, 
^'Twould make her °amiable, | and ^sub^due my ^father 
Entirely | to her love ; | but || if she °lost it, || 
Or made | a gift of it, || my father's eye 
Should hold her loathed, | and his spirits should hunt 
After °new ^fancies. She, dying, gave it me. 
And bade me, | when fate would have me wive, ( 
To give it fier. ^I °did s^; (/) and, take heed on 't. 
Make it a darling | like your precious eye ; 
To lose I or give 't away | ^were ""such (/) ^perdition 
(- -) As nothing else could match. 

Des. ''Is 't ^possible ? [ Wringing her hands.] ^ 

0th. 'Tis true ; ^there's °magic | in the °web of it. 

Des. Then would to heaven | that I | had never seen it. 

0th. [starting]. Hal wherefore ? 

Des. Why do you speak so °startlingly | and rash ? 

0th. [fiercely]. Is 't lost ? Is 't gone? Speak, is it out o' 
the way ? 

Des. (\) "Heaven bless us I 



iMPERSONA TIONS, 227 

0th. Speak ! 

i)e.«. ^It is ''not „l6st ; ( \ ) but what an' if it *^were ? 

0th. HaT how ? 

Z)es. I say, I it is ""not ^lost. 

0th, '^''Fetch *t ; let me see it. 

Bes. [starts to go for it]. Why, so I can, sir, [pauses] but I 
will not now. [Returns.] 
(\) This is a °trick | to put me from my °suit. 
Pray you, let Cassio be „re°ceived ^again. 

0th. [pacing to and fro in anger]. (\) "^Fetch me that 
handkerchief ; my mind misgives. 

Des. Come, come. [Failing to understand.] 
(\) You'll never meet | a more ^sufficient man. 

0th. The handkerchief, — 

Des. I pray, | (\) talk me of | °Cassio. 

0th. The ^handkerchief,— 

Des. A man that all the time 
Hath founded his "^good ^fortunes | on your love ; 
^Shared ^dangers with you — 

0th. [pacing up and down], (asp.) The handkerchief! 

Des. In sooth you are to blame [approaches him]. 

0th. [throws her from him]. ° A.w8ij I [Exit Othello in o^age.] 
[Enter Emilia.] 

Emit. Is not this man jealous ? 

Des. 1 °ne'er saw this | obe°f6re. 
Sure, there's some "wonder" | in this handkerchief. 
I am most °un°happy | (/) in the loss of it. 
(-- -) Something sure, of state, hath puddled his clear spirit. 

Emit. Pray heaven it be °state Qmatte'rs, as you think. 
And no jealous toy concerning you. 

Des. (\) °Alas the day ! (/) I never gave him caiise. 

Emil. But jealous souls | will not be (\) °answer'd so. 
They are not °ever jealous for the cause. 
But jealous | for they are "jealous ; 'tis a monster, 
Begot upon ^it^self, "born ^on ^itself. 



228 HELEN POTTER'S 

Des. [sadly]. Heaven keep that monster | from Othello's 

miii3l 

Emil. °Lady, Qanieh t [Exeunt.] 

In the fourth act, Desdemona is abused, and m great grief. Still 
ig-norant of the true cause of her lord's strange conduct, she uncon- 
sciously continues to add fuel to the fire of his jealousy. At last, 
overcome by his feelings, he falls, face down, upon a sofa, and sobs 
aloud. After this outburst, she is made acquainted with the charges 
brought against her. Then follow such protestations of innocence, 
such deep grief, as should move a heart of adamant ; but he is not 
convinced, and with both hands to his bowed head, and groaning in 
agony, he strides away, and she is left upon her knees, still weeping 
bitterly. 



Act v.. Scene, Desdemona's bed-chamber. 

Enter Desdemona and Emilia. They go to the dressing-table, 
which is on the right. 

Des. {p.) °He hath commanded me to go to bed, 
And bade me to dismiss you. 

E^nil. Dismiss me ? 

Des. It was his biddiiig ; therefore, | good Emilia, 
Give me my night- wearing, and adieu ; 
(\) We must not ^now Qdis°please him. [Sits.] 

Emil. I would you had never °seen ^hiin ! 

Des. (\) °So would not | "'I ; my love doth °so ^approve 
hiin', 
(/) That even °his | ^stubbornness, | his °checks, his 

°frowns, 
^Have °grace and °favor | ^in them. 
[Sighing.] My mother had a maid "called | ^Barbara ; 
She was in °love, and °he she °loved (\)°proved mad, 
And did Qfor°sake ^her. She had a song | of "Willow." 
An old thing 'twas, | but it expressed her "for^tulie, 
(/) And she died | singing it. °That song | to-night 
Will not go from my mind. I have °much | ^to °d(5^ 
{p.) {^^) °But to go hang my head | all at one si^, 
And sing it, | like poor ^Barbara. [Sighs.] Pr ythee dis^ 
patch. 

Emil. Shall I fetch your nightgown ? 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 



229 



Des. No, unpin me | ^here. [Emilia takes down her hair 
while she sings,'] 

Slow and with feeling. 



'%^i 



=qv=:j=:t=]=:=qizzi; 



1. The poor soul sat sigh - ing 

2. The fresh streams ran by her 



i 



'a=H=R-z=:^z=1=:F=q: 



A 



by a 
and. . 



sy - ca - more 
murmur'd her 



-m-- — pv — I— r-d -^ = ^^ — •— K M *" 





1 1— I r — Sr\ — \ 1 ^ — ^-l 1 1 — I 

1— H — I c — ^ — p-F — I 1 \ — \—\-o — \~A 

0-^ -9-- N — J— »— p -g g 9—o-U -H ^ —A 

tree, Sing wil - low, wil-low, wil - low, With her hand on her 
moans, Sing wil - low, wil-low, wil - low, Her salt tears fell 

:i=zq=:j=qd===:rqegrcid=d==F^ir^-r1r3 






1 






=1: 



bo - som 
from her 



And her head 
And.... soft 




^^: 



:=i=3==:^=:=^3= 






230 



HELEN POTTER'S 



\&peakB .*] 
Lay by these [taking jeweU from her ears], 
[Sings ;] 



wil - low, Oil ! 
wil - low, Let 




wil - low, wil - low, wil - low, wil - low, And be my gar - 
no - - bo - - dy ... blame him, His scorn I ap - 












Et- 



-i r- 






^^iHi^ 



[Speaks :] 
Pr'ythee, hie^; he'll come anon. 
[Sings :] 



IMPERSONA TIONS. 



231 




— h 

- land Sing all a green willow, 

- prove, He was born to be false, 

1-r-J r 



low, wil - low, 
die for his 







^^H 



willow. Oh! sing the green wil -low must be my gar-land. 
love, Oh ! sing the green wil - low must be my gar-land. 




-0-- — I — ^ 



==f=-p-U-i=i 



'^=^^i 



gfcgEEE 






tt: 



'-T- 



m 



I 



r 



i 



Nay, that's not next. [Starts.] Hark! who is 't that 
knocks ? 

Emit. It's the wind. 

Des. " I called my love false love; hut what said he then ? 
8ing Willow, Willow^ Willow.''^ 
( \ ) Gret thee gone ; ^good-^night. [Kisses her.] 
Mine eyes do itch ; doth that bode weeping ? [Rises.] 
I have heard it said so. (\)°0 these men, (\)°theseQmen! 
Dost thou in conscience think, [places her hands on Emilia's 

shoulders, and looks sadly into her eyes] tell me, Emilia, 
That there be women do abuse their husbands 
In such gross kinS ? 

Emil. ( \ ) °There be some such, | ^no "question. 



232 HELEN FO TTER S 

Des. [sighing]. I do not think there is any | such ] woman. 

Emil. °Yes, ^a °dozen. 

Des. ''Good-Knight, °good-Qnight ; °heaven help ine. [Sings 

as she passes across the stage, and behind the curtains at the 

rear. Exit Emil.] 

" The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, 

iSing all a green willow,'^ etc. 

Darkness now creeps over the scene, and an ominous silence fol- 
lows. Cautiously, Othello enters and slowly closes the door, and, like 
a statue, stands some moments in silence ; then, throwing off his red 
cloak, he goes quickly to the curtain and looks in upon Desdemona. 
He returns to the door, tries the knob, crosses over, sits before her 
dressing-table, and talks aloud to himself. 

0th. It is the cause, I it is the cause, | my soul ! 

pLet me not (\) "name it to you, | ^ye chaste stars I 

It is the cause. Yet I'll °not shed her °blood, 

Nor scar that ( \) "whiter skin of hers | than snow, 

(- -) And smooth as monumental alabaster. 

(- -) Yet I she must | die. 

(/) ^Put out the light, | ^and °then — ^put out | the UgKi? 

If I quench thee, thou flaming minister [to the lamp], 

I can again | thy former light "restore, 

(/) ^Should I repent me ; but once put out °thy olight, 

(-• -) Thou cunning pattern | of excelling nature, 

I know not "where | is that Promethean heat 

^That can "re^lume. When I have plucked the rose, 

(- -) I cannot give it vital growth again. 

It must needs "wither. ^^Pll smell it | on the tree. 

He goes to the curtain, enters, and comes forth with both arms over 
his bowed head, hands clasped, and sobbing aloud. 

balmy breath | that dost persuade 
Justice herself | ^to break | her sword ! 
One more, | one m(5fe I 

He looks again ; it thunders and lightens, and Desdemona moans 
in her sleep ; he pauses. 

Be thus I when thou art dead, | and I will kill thee, 
(/) And love thee | "after. One more, | and the last, 



IMPERSONATIONS. 233 

He g-oes to her yet once again, and comes quickly forth, exclaiming : 
She wakes. 

Bes. Ippens the curtoin with one arm up, and t?ie other down 
in graceful pose]. Who 's there ? Othello ? 

0th, Ay, Desdemona. 

Des. (\) ''Will you come to ^bed, | (/) °my lord? 

0th. Have you prayed | to-night, Desdem^a ? 

Des. Ay, I my lord. 

0th. If you bethink you | of any crime 
Unreconciled as yet | to heaven and grace, 
Solicit for it | strai^t. 

Des. [coming forward]. Alas, | my lord, | (\) °what do> 
you mean by that ? 

0th. ^Well, °do it, | ^and be brief. 
( — ) I would not kill thy unprepared spirit ; 
°No, ^Heaven forfend ! I would not kill thy °soul. [He 
paces a circle (right) and she follows.] 

Des. Talk you of killing ? 

0th. Ay , I (fe ! 

Des. Then °Heaven have mercy on me ! 

0th. Amen, with all my heart ! 

Des. If you say so, | I hope you will °not ^kill °me. 

0th. Hum ! [He walks to the extreme right and stands with 
his back toward her ; she follows.] 

Des. And yet I fear you, | for you're °fatal °theu 
When your eyes °roll so. °Why I should fe'ar | I know not, 
Since (\) °gLiilt I know not; yet I feel | °I fear. 

0th. [turns savagely]. ^Think on thy sms ! 

Des. They are °loves I bear | ^to °you. 

0th. Ay, and for that | thou di^t! [Walks to and fro.] 
• Des, That death 's °unnatiiral | that kills for gloving 
Alas ! why gnaw you so | your nether lip ? 
Some bloody passion | shakes your very frame ; 
These are portents ; but yet I hope, | ^I °hope, 
(\) °They do not point | ^on °me. 



234 HELEN POTTERS 

0th. Peace, | and be still ! 

Des. (\) I will so. (w) ° What's the ^matter ? 
{He grasps with both hands her left arm.] 

0th. (q.) The handkerchief of which I so loved and gave 
thee, 
Thou gav'st to Cassio ! 

Des. °No; by my life and °soul ! 
°Send for the man, | and °ask ohiin. 

0th. Sweet soul, take heed, 
Take heed of perjury ; thou art on thy death-bed. 

Des. °Aj, but not yet to die ! 

0th. Yes; I immediately; 
Therefore, confess thee freely of thy sm : 
Thou art to die ! 

Des. [kneeling]. Then Lord have mercy on me ! 
And have you mercy, too ! I °never did 
^Offend you | in my life ; never loved Cassio, 
But with such general warranty of Heaven 
As I °might olove. I '^never ogave him ^to^ken. 

0th. I saw the handkerchief in 's hand. 

perjured woman ! thou dost stone my heart, 
Des. He found it then ; 

1 °never ( / ) ^gave it him ; send for him '^hither, 
And let him confess a °truth. 

• 0th. He °hath ^confessed. 

Des. He will °not ^say sd". 

0th. No; his mouth is stopped. 
Honest lago hath ta'en order for 't. 

Des. What, is he °dead ? [Rising.] 
Alas ! he is betrayed, | and I | °undone ! [Trembling.] 

0th. Weepst thou for him to my face ? 

Des. O banish me, my lord, but kill me not. 

0th. [grasps her hand]. Down, false woman! 

Des. °Kill me to-morrow ; "let me live | to-night I 

0th, [dragging her along]. Nay, if you strive, — 



IMPERSONATIONS. 235 

Des. °Biit half an hour — 

But while I say °one prayer ! {^^he strives to break away from 

him.] 

0th. It is too late ! 

They disappear behind the curtains ; then moans are heard, each 
softer than the one before, and silence follows. Loud, quick raps are 
heard at the outer door ! 

Emit. ^My °l6rd ! ^my °°lord ! 

Othello hastily thrusts his head outside the curtain, revealing- a face 
of teri'or, demoniac and horrible to behold. The curtains are pressed 
close about the head, revealing- no other part of his person, and he 
mutters in a deep voice, ag-itated by intense fear. 

0th. What noise is this ? 

He disappears, and the rapping is repeated. 

Emit, [calling]. My lord ! my lord ! I'd speak a word 
with you ! 

Othello comes hurriedly out, and running" to the door, listens. 

0th. °°Who's there ? [To himself.] „Yes— 'tis Emilia. 
[Aloud.] °^By-and-by. [To himself .] ^She's dead. 
(- -) ^'Tis like she comes | to speak of Cassio's death ; 
( — ) The noise was high ! [Goes back to look at Desdemona.] 
^Ha ! no more moving ! 

^Still as the grave ! [Returns to the door.] Shall she come in ? 
Were 't good ? [Three times e.^says to unlock the door.] 
I think she stirs again. [Listens for Desdemona again.] No ! 

What's best to do ? 
If she comes in | she'll sure to speak to my wife. 
[Starts vacantly.] ^My wife ! | my °wife ! ( \) °I have no wife ! 
[In the broken voice of sorrow.] Oh, insupportable ! oh, heavy 

hour ! 
Methinks it should now be a huge eclip'se 
Of sun and mo^i ; and that the affrighted globe 
^Should yawn | at alteration. 

Emit, [calling]. "I do beseech you 
That I may speak with you. °0 ^good, ^my °lord ! 

0th. [taking a full breathy unlocks the door], J. had forgot 
them. °0 (\) °come in, Emilia. 



236 HELEN POTTERS 

{Opens the door.'l (\) ° What's the matter with thee now ? 
'EmiL [enters left]. °0h, my good lord, yonder's foul 
murthur done. 
^'Cassio, ,^my lord, ^hath killed a young Venetian, 
Called Roderigo. 

0th. Oh, come ! what now ? [Desdemona groans ; he paces 
up and down, and spats his hands to drown her moans ; 
hut Emilia hears her^ 
Emil. Alas, what '^cry is that ? 
Des. [wice afar]. Oh ! falsely, falsely murthured! 
Emil. Out, and alas ! that was my lady's voice. 
[Emilia runs behind the curtain and calls aloud.] 
Help, help ! ^oh, °help ! lady, speak again ! 
(\) °8weet Desdemona! sweet mistress, °speak ! 
Des. [faintly]. A guiltless death I die^ 

Emilia pushes the curtain aside, revealing the sadly tumbled bed, 
and Desdemona lying diagonally across it, her head to the front, the 
pillow on the floor, all denoting her vain struggle for life. 

Emil. Oh, who hath done this deed ? 
Des. [in a weak mice to save Othello']. °Nobody ; || I my- 
self ; II ^farewell ! 
0th. Why, how should she be °murthured? 
Emil. [advancing]. Alas! who knows ? 
0th. You heard her say herself, | it was not I. 
EmiL oShe °said ^so. 

0th, She's like a liar | gone to burning hell ; 
^'Twas °I ^that killed her. 

Emil. Oh, the more °angel °she, and °you | the blacker 

odevil ! 
Olh. She was false | as water. 
Emil. Oh, she was heavenly true ! 
0th. Thy °husband | knew it all. 
Emil. °My ^husband ? ^ 

0th. Thy husband. Ay; 'twas he | that told me first 
Emil. °My Jms°band ? 



IMPERSONATIONS. 237 

0th. What needs this °itterance, | ^woman ? I say thy 
^husband. 
Dost understand the word ? 
My friend, thy °huSoband, honest, ( \ ) °honest lago. 

Emil. If he say so, | ^may his pernicious soul 
Rot I half a grain a day ! He "lies | to the heart ; 
8he was too fond | of her filthy bargain. 

Olh. l^'ises to stab her]. Ha ! 

Einil. Do thy worst ; 
This deed of thine | is no more worthy °heaveii 
Than °thou | (/) wast worthy °her. 

gull ! dolt ! as ignorant as dirt ! 

Thou hast done a deed. [Othello advances upon her with his 

sword.] I care not for thy sword ; 

I'll make thee known tho' I lost twenty lives. 

°°Help ! £elp, ho ! help ! 

°The Moor hath killed my mistress ! °°Murthur! °°murthur! 

Enter Gratiano, Ludovico, lag-o, and others. Here follows a dis- 
cussion which reveals lag-o's true character, and proves Desdemona 
innocent. Othello falls moaning into a chair, overwhelmed by re- 
morse. 

Olh. Desdemona ! Desdemona ! dead ! oh, oh, oh ! 

He goes to her bed, falls upon his knees, and, with arms across her 
dead body and his face bui'ied in the bed by her side, gives vent to 
sufh grief and remoree as only a great, passionate, and impulsive 
being like the Moor could feel. After the storm, he nses, draws his 
scimeter and wounds lago. 

Cassia. Dear General ! (\) °I never gave you cause — 
0th. [interruptin-g him]. That's he that °was ^Othello. 

[To Cassio.] I do believe it, and ask your pardon. 

8oft ; I a word or two | before you go. 

1 have done the state °some ^service, | and they know it ; 
(- -) No more of that. °I pray you, | in your letters. 
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate, 

Speak of me | (\) as I am ; nothing extenuate, 

Nor set down naught | in malice. °Then must you speak 

Of one that loved °not ^wisely, | but °too well ; 



238 HELEN PO TIERS 

Of one not easily jealous, | but, °being- wrought, 

Perplexed | in the extreme ; of one | whose hand, 

Like the base Judeah, | threw a °pearl ^aw'ay 

^Richer | ^than all his tribe ; of one whose subdued eyes. 

Albeit unused to the melting mood, 

Drop tears as fast | as the Arabian trees 

Their medicinal giim. (\) °Set you down this; 

And °say, ^besides", that in Aleppo once, 

(- -) Where a malignant | and turban'd Turk 

Beat a Venetian, | and traduced the state, 

I took by the throat | the circumcised dog 

(/) oAnd smote him — || °thus ! 

\He drives the scimeter into his throat, reels heavily to the flom\ 
and dies?\ 



SiGNOR ToMMASo Salvini, the great Italian trag-edian, is a hale and 
hearty man of fifty years or more, who has won universal pt-aise for 
his extraordinary representation of Othello, Samson, and other pow- 
erful personages who figure in histo)'y and litei'ature. It is doubtful 
if the Othello of this great tragedian has ever been equalled. It is 
his own ; he presents effectively, and in quick succession, the noble 
Moor and the brave officer ; the proud, tender lover and the jealous, 
cruel husband ; the enraged friend ; the terrible murderer; the fren- 
zied mourner filled with remorse ; and, finally, the broken-hearted 
suicide. 

His voice is a basso profundo, of great pov^er. It can strike terror 
to the heart of an adversary, or melt into tenderness ; and ring all the 
changes of grief, remorse and despair. 

Stage-settings, Costumes, etc. — For Act I., Scene I., a full stage, 
dark street ; a large house, with a balcony upon the left For 
Scene II., a council chamber ; Duke and senators in red robes; tables 
draped to the floor in red cloth ; the Duke (in a deep ermine cape) 
upon an elevated seat, between two long tables, which extend along- 
the entire rieht of the stage. The guard stand inside the rear door, 
clad in bi-ight armor, with tall spears planted firmly befoi-e them, two 
in advance of the line. At the left are seen Gratiano, Ludovico, and 
others. This is the scene when the curtain rises. Othello enters left, 
in white cloak and turban, and halts near the centre of the stage. As 
he stands thei-e motionless, with his full, erect figure draped in white, 
his brown face surmounted with the great white turban, he looks like 
a grand statue of marble and bronze. The effect is instantaneous, 
and the magnificent voice does not detract from, but rather heightens 
the first impression. 



IMFERSONATIOJSIS, 239 

Othello's costume is Mooi-ish throug-hout. For Act I., a tunic, simi- 
lar to the one Nvorn in Act III. (see below), but open down the front 
instead of at the side, and without the elaborate embroidery ; an un- 
der g-arment, quite like Zouave skirt or trousers, viz., full, reaching- 
to the g-arters, and sewn tog-ether at the bottom, save at the extreme 
right and left, where the legs pass through ; legg-ins of gobelin blue 
and embroidered in gold, extending from garter to instep, and meet- 
ing the Moorish shoes of buff leather, with their canoe-shaped toes ; 
a red cap wonnd around with the great white tui-ban ; an ample 
white cloak which drapes the remainder of the figure, or is carried 
upon the left arm ; about the neck a string of metal beads, and a 
huge, jeweled scimeter-hilt pi'Otruding from the bosom of the tunic. 

For Act II., a coat of mail ; full armor and a red cloak. 

For Act III., a tunic and trousers of oriental or gobelin blue (a 
color of medium depth and tinged with green). The tunic is fash- 
ioned very much like the Chinese outer garment, but with short 
sleeves (above the elbow). It is buttoned from the shoulder-seam to 
a point a little below the waist-line, on the right, and hangs free and 
open below that point. The bosom, corners, and close undersleeves 
are embroidered with gold braid to match the border, and a pyi^a- 
mid is wrought from the middle of the tunic behind each way ; one 
from the bottom upward, and, inversely, one from the neck down- 
ward. A crimson sash is tied in long loops on the left side, and the 
curved scimeter is thrust under it in front. 

For Act v., a tunic of yellow broadcloth, open in front, with six 
large cii'cular buttons or ornaments of the yellow cloth, pinked about 
the edges, and each set with a sparkling stone, three buttons for 
each side. Under the tunic is a white shirt or blouse, covering the 
arms to the wrists, and showing at the throat ; over the whole a red 
cloak, to be thrown off during the first part of the action. 

Signor Salvini (as did also Mme. Ristori when playing in this coun- 
try) gave the text belonging to him in his own tongue (Italian), while 
the rest of the company sj^oke in English. Therefore, the peculiar 
power of his elocution is much diminished by translation. A single 
word in one language may express more than a dozen words of 
another language. The costumes, action, expression and general 
effects of passion and elocution are available ; the rest is only approx- 
imate, not absolute. 




DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK 






V 



Edited by ELSIE M. WILBOR, 

Assistant Editor of WERNEE'S VOICE MA&AZINE. 



Something unique in Recitation Books. Original in 
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A NEW MEDALLION PORTRAIT OF DELSARTE PREPARED SPECIALLY FOR THIS 
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The book gets its name from several favorite pieces of Delsarte's, from an epigram on 
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according to Delsartean principles. 

Every piece has been either written, translated, arranged, or adapted specially for the 
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an era in books of this class. 



Elegantly Bound, Price, $1,25, Postpaid, 
Address the Publisher, 

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Musieafly Aocompanied Reeftafions! 

The Reader does not Sing but recites the Piece in the Usual Way, while another Person 
Plays the Accompaninieut on Piano or Organ, thus Lending the Power of Music u> the 
Reader's Voice in Bringing Out the Effects of the Recitation. 

MAILING PRICE. 

AUX IT ALIENS. Poem by Owen Meredith. Music by G Verdi. As arranged and 
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THE liAST HYMN. Poem by Marianne Famingham. Music by P. Giorza. Story 
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THE SHADOW OF A SONG. Poem by Campbell Rae-Brown. Music by Edgar 
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Roth the singer and the piano are invisible This is the greatest reading of the 
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THE TRAGEDY. Poem by T, B. Aldrich. Music arranged by P. Giorza from La 
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HOW WE KEPT THE DAY. Poem by Will Carleton. Music by W. E. G. Evans. 
This is a humorous account of a country Fourth of July celebration, introducing 
the various national airs and other tunes usually played on such occasions 75 

THE UNCIiE, as recited by Henry Irving. Poem by H. G. BeU. Music composed 
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THE STORY OF SOME BEI.L.S. Music by Edgar S. Place. Story of an artisan 
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KING ROBERT OF SIC ILY. Poem by Longfellow. This great poem is too well 
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COUNTRY SEEIGHING. Poem by E. C. Stedman. Charming, semi-humorous 
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MUSIC ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK. Poem by C. C. Somerville. Story of 
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responds with its war-tune, until finally, one side plays "Home, Sweet Home," 
which so touches the other side that it joins in, and for the time being the North 
and the South are one. Appropriate for G. A. R. meetings, etc 50 

I DRE AIM. Poem by Rev. D v\ight Williams. The happiness and beauty of the here- 
after as foreshadowed in a dream. Suitable for Sunday-school and church enter- 
tainments, as well as for other occasions 50 

THE FUGITIVES. Poem by Sheliey. Music by Robert Schumann. Story of 

runaway lovers, who are cursed by her father, and who are exposed to a storm. .40 

Sent on receipt of price. Address the publisher, 

EDG4E S. WEENEB, 28 West 23d St.. New York. 



Established 1879. 



Werner'8 Voice Mmzine: 

(Formerly "The Voice.") 

A Monthly Journal for those Who Read, Who Speak, 
and Who Sing. 

For Teacher and Pupil ; Reader and Singer ; Lecturer and Preacher ; 

Lawyer and Actor; Legislator and Physician; Parent and 

Speech-Sufferer ; Theorist and Practician. 

A Guide for the Restoring, the Cultivating and the Preserving of the Voice 

FOR SPEECH AND FOR SONG. 

Respiration, Phonation, Modulation, Intonation, Articulation, Enunci- 
ation, Pronunciation, Conversation, Gesticulation, Personation, 



WERNER'S VOICE MAGAZINE 

Has the Leading Specialists of the World for its Contributors. 



It is the press exponent of the human voice in its manifold phases ; 
treats of its uses and capabilities ; gives directions for its cultivation and 
management, whether in singing, preaching, lecturing, reading, or 
conversing ; points out the way to remedy its bad habits or defects and 
to restore it to healthful action, organic and functional. 

It is a journal which discusses pulpit and secular oratory ; the meth- 
ods of teaching reading and declamation in schools ; the various 
systems of cultivating the voice for singing ; elocution; the art of con- 
versation; and, in fact, everything pertaining to the speaking and 
the singing voice. 



Published Monthly at $1.50 a Year in Advance; Single Copy, 20 cents. 



Address the Editor and Proprietor, 

EDGAR S. WERNER, 
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THIRD EDITION. 



DELSMTE SYSTEM OF ORATORY. 

CONTAINING THE TINABRIDGED WORKS OF 

M. I'Ablie Delaniosne and Mme. Angelique Araaud 

(pupils op delsarte), and the 

LITERMY REMIKS OF FRANCOIS DELSARTE. 

"WITH THE FAMOUS 

Printed in Colors as Drawn by Delsarte. 



These writings, now given to the pubhc for the first time, were lately purchased of Mme. 
DELSARTE, with the understanding that they were all the manuscripts left by her illustri- 
ous husband. They are published in the same condition DELSARTE left them in, thereby 
affording the best means of becoming acquainted with the thoughts and methods of the 
unparalleled master of the science and the art of expression. In them is found THE GEN- 
UINE DELSARTE SYSTEM unmixed with the views and purposes of other persons, but 
presented .lust as the master expounded it. 

AN EXTRACT FROM DELSARTE'S LAST LETTER TO THE KING OF HANOVER 
IS A FITTING PREFACE: 
"I am at this mom.ent meditating a book, singular for more than one reason, whose 
form will be no less novel than its contents. The title is, ' The History of an Idea Pursued 
for Forty Years.' It will be my task to connect, and condense into a single narrative, all the 
circumstances of my life, which had as logical consequences the numerous discoveries which 
it has been granted me to follow up. I know not what fate is reserved for this book, but, 
however it may be, I crave, su'e, your majesty's permission to offer the dedication to you." 



A BOOK OK NKARIvY 600 PAQKS, 

of Great Value to all Delsarteans, Teachers of Elocution, Public Speakers, Singers, 

Actors, Sculptors, Painters, Psychologists, Theologians, Scholars in 

any Department of Science, Art, and Thought, 

Many Charts, Diagrams, Cuts, etc. Teacber's price, $3.50 net. NOT FOR SALE AT 
BOuiv-STORES. Send draft on New York, postal order or registered letter direct to the 
publisher, 

EDGAR S. WERNER, 

28 West 23d Street, NEW TORB:. 



" The Body is the Expression of Thought." — Eddy. 



Science and Health 

With Key to the Scriptures. 

Original and Standard Text-Book on CHRISTIAN SCIENCE 
MIND HEALING. By Mary Baker G. Eddy. 

Scores have been healed of supposed incurable diseases by read- 
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J. P. Filbert, Council Bluffs, Iowa. 

Cloth, 600 pp., prepaid, $3.18 each- 



Christian Science Journal. 

founded by 
Mrs. Mary B. G. Eddy. 1883. 



Official Monthly Organ of National Christian Scientists' Association. 



It promulgates advanced spiritual thought, a higher understand- 
ing of God to promote health and morality, by practical scientific 
explanations. 

Subscription price, $2.00 per year ; $1.00 for six months ; 20c. 
per copy. 

Ohristian Science Publishing Society, 
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^TU DENTS •:♦ OF -:♦ p ^PKESSIQN 

MUST BE STUDENTS OF 

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The best works on this subject are published by 
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reader of this. Special attention should be called to 
that masterly work, 

A llatiral Sjstein of ElociitM i\i Oratory. 

Founded on an analysis of the Human Constitution, 
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